Prophecies and Convictions
by Gil-dae
Summary: A Phrophecy...only a few words that could forever change the life of two lovers. Legolas plunges into despair as he watches his beloved Aragorn drift away, and Legolas finds himself caught in a plot that could take his own life...
1. When she Intoned

I think this redundant, but this is a slash story! Obviously, if you do not like slash, the characters I'm slashing, or anything about slash, DO NOT READ THIS STORY! There is A/L and L/H in it.  
  
Now, if you haven't turned around and decided not to read it, I hope you enjoy!  
  
Legolas stood tall and erect on the balcony of his room in the castle at Minas Tirith. The air was full of the smell of the sea, and Legolas leaned forward to catch a whiff of it. His heart beat to the remembered sound of the waves crashing against the water, of the calling of gulls on that clear beach.  
  
"Someday I shall find Valinor beyond," he whispered as he placed his elbows on the railing. Tears sprung into his eyes as he said this though, and he hastily wiped them away. To leave for Valinor would be to leave Aragorn.  
  
"But what has Aragorn ever meant to me?" he asked coldly. "What has Aragorn ever done for me?" He only brought hurt. Legolas felt the wind stir, and it toyed with his long hair as he leaned on the railing. The wind was like Aragorn those nights they enjoyed together. Why can't we remain as one? Why must he leave me so?  
  
"Legolas?" a voice called from the bedroom door. Legolas turned around and called:  
  
"Enter." Haldir let himself in room and crossed to the balcony.  
  
"Legolas, Lady Galadriel sent word by messenger last night that we must make haste to reach the havens, for she does not know how long she can keep the last ship for us. She understands that Elrond must stay a few days longer for his daughter's wedding..." Legolas grimaced at the last word, "...but she wishes that as many elves as possible come now to the havens. I do not know if you wish to remain for Aragorn and Arwen's..."  
  
"Is there any reason for me to stay?" Legolas spat viciously. Haldir recoiled from his long-time comrade's anger.  
  
"You and Aragorn have long been friends..."  
  
"And that friendship ended," Legolas said with finality. He turned and strode to the opposite end of the balcony, then returned, pacing the porch's length. Haldir watched his friend as he did his, sometimes banging a fist upon the hard metal. This was quite a display for the naturally impassive elf.  
  
"Legolas, my friend, what troubles you so?" Haldir rested a hand on Legolas' shoulder, but Legolas shrugged him off.  
  
"I need no condolences. It is not as if you could provide much assistance to me at such a time." There was a puzzled look on Haldir's face, and Legolas used this as an opportunity to alter the subject. "I will return with you to the havens when you leave. Will that be soon?"  
  
"We were to depart in the morn," he informed Legolas. Legolas nodded, a final gesture, and turned from Haldir to look out over the city. Haldir took this as farewell and left his troubled friend.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn walked down the passageway to Legolas' chamber. Fear was even growing in him at the next confrontation. Haldir had warned him that Legolas was severely troubled, but Haldir could not hint at what.  
  
"It would benefit him to have your company, despite his earlier remarks, I believe," Haldir had said.  
  
"What remarks?" Aragorn questioned, worry growing deep inside him. Haldir did not reply.  
  
"He is very troubled now, yes. Aragorn, I fear for him. He is severely saddened, even though he tries to hide it. I have seen many elves in this state..." He left his sentence unfinished.  
  
Aragorn turned abruptly in front of the door to Legolas' chambers. He knocked on the sturdy wood, and he heard movement behind the door.  
  
"Enter," a shaky voice called. Aragorn cracked open the door before opening it fully.  
  
Inside he saw Legolas sitting on a chair by a window, which was open. The sunlight cast shadows across his fair colored hair, and as he turned, Aragorn discerned the glistening of tears on his cheeks.  
  
Legolas stared at Aragorn a few moments before registering he was really in this room.  
  
"What do you wish of me?" Legolas asked coldly.  
  
"Haldir informed me..."  
  
"Haldir, Haldir! What does Haldir know? He is a silly elf who cannot understand what it is that I feel. He merely takes this time to his advantage. He is very greedy, very selfish." Aragorn stood still at these words. "Of course, you could relate to this also. You are just as greedy, though even more foul. Do you desire another taste of me, even though it is only days before you wedding to the fair Lady Arwen?"  
  
"Legolas..." Aragorn felt his throat constrict as realization hit him.  
  
"What excuse will you offer me now?" He glared across the room, and Aragorn felt himself slowly collapsing beneath that gaze.  
  
"Legolas," he started, but what could he tell his heartbroken once- lover? How do you comfort one hurt by you? He gulped; decided that he must tell Legolas the truth. "Only a few weeks before, I must say yes, you were my lover..."  
  
"Plaything," Legolas corrected.  
  
"I did not say that!" Aragorn's temper was flaring. "I was your lover, yet there was foreboding in my heart. Something was direly wrong. This was only confirmed by a message sent my Lady Galadriel to me. She, she had a vision of death, of the destruction of the earth, and she felt this to be very close to our current time. Legolas please hear me out. She warned against allowing you to be my lover. This was what she sensed in this message..."  
  
"You would trust her visions?" Legolas roared. "You trust a silly vision? That is the reason you left me without turning to..."  
  
"She does not see silly visions, and you know this!" Aragorn shouted just as loudly. "The Lady Galadriel has many visions, yes, but all are truthful in their own right. All show what can become if time does not follow the allotted course."  
  
"She takes too much pride in her visions, stretching them and distorting the truth."  
  
"You honestly think that she would lie only for the reason of an assured marriage to Lady Arwen? She would not do that! Her visions are to be trusted! She is one of the last high elves..."  
  
"The Noldor? Ha, the Noldor brought nothing but death and dread to the world. Fëanor's folly was forever a curse upon all their kind, even those who did not take the horrid oath."  
  
"Galadriel is different." By this time, his voice was almost a plea.  
  
"She is no different. In fact, she is more prone to Noldor stupidity!" Legolas stood up sharply and shoved past Aragorn. "I wish no more to converse with you." He slammed the door behind Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn stood motionless, his body trembling. His legs collapsed below him and he placed his head in his hands.  
  
"Legolas, mela, mankoi?" he cried (Legolas, love, why). He rocked back and forth to the time of his tears. "Mela, mela, amin meleth lle, Legolas! Amin hiraetha. I wish you no harm, no harm at all!" Yet he could not shake the image of those eyes, eyes filled with un-cried tears. Legolas would not so easily forgive. "Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar, yet will you do the same to me? My love, do not fall away. It is not that I do not love you! My love!" (I would follow you into death and beyond) He sobbed into his hands as memories floated in and out of his mind, precious times with his beloved, Legolas. Try as he might, none left him, and he felt himself slipping into the dream world of the past.  
  
***  
  
Legolas cantered across the star-lit plain, tears glistening in his eyes. He choked on another sob as he turned his horse once more to face the diminishing city behind him. There, he could see Minas-Tirith, shadows falling across its surface in the dim light. He saw in his mind riding upon it in bright sunlight from a friendly ride with Aragorn, the sun above it, shining down. I thought that my home.  
  
He closed his eyes and his mind to any more visions of that poisonous man.  
  
Three days of hard riding led him far away from the evil city, and now, as Legolas lay on the ground with the setting sun in front of him, he felt utterly alone. Even with the horse he stole, he felt pure emptiness in his heart.  
  
He gazed out over the empty plain, every bone in his body aching with that emptiness. Was there any chance left? Was their search in vain? He placed his head in his hands, muttering to himself.  
  
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and there, standing beside him, was Aragorn, his long time friend and companion. With his sharp eyes, he could see clearly the lines of fatigue on the man's face.  
  
"Why do you not rest? Now is a time to sleep," he whispered.  
  
"I do not desire sleep nor do I need it, when the only comfort I desire stands beside me now." Aragorn cupped Legolas' face in his hands, caressing the perfect skin. "Mela," he breathed. Legolas could not contain a shiver. Aragorn pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the lithe form.  
  
His lips were warm, so warm and comforting. Legolas returned the kiss with just as much passion. He felt Aragorn's eyelashes, and he could feel moisture on them. The Ranger was crying. Legolas pulled away and put his hand up to Aragorn's cheek, wiping away the tear.  
  
"Amin meleth lle." Aragorn pulled the elf in once more for a kiss.  
  
"No!" Legolas cried, shaking with uncontrollable sobs. "Stop it! Stop this!" He hid his face in his hands, curling into a small ball on the ground. "Melamin," he sobbed, the word coming unbidden to his tongue. Aragorn, though, was not there, was not there to comfort the distraught elf. He would never be there again. He was long gone.  
  
Still, a figure did come. He dismounted from his horse, hearing the sobbing, and ran to the form on the ground.  
  
"Legolas?" he asked. Legolas turned around, his tears streaked face glittering in the night. Above him was a worried face, the face of Haldir. Legolas closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. His bottom lip trembled, and he bit at it. "Do not fear, my friend. It is alright." He cradled the elf in his arms, and Legolas buried his face in the older elf's chest. Haldir stroked the soft hair and rocked back and forth.  
  
Legolas finally quieted down, and he looked up at Haldir with pleading eyes. He wanted something, but what?  
  
"Aragorn, I suppose..."  
  
"Shhh, do not worry over him. There will be no more trouble," Haldir whispered. Legolas closed his eyes and rested his head on Haldir's chest then, comforted by even those words. Haldir, though, was not. He looked down at his friend and saw how pale the elf was, how deathly pale. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. Suddenly, a familiar pang came to Haldir's heart.  
  
Long had he treasured this elf. He was once Legolas' teacher and protector of sorts, when he was but young, for an elf, that is. He had taught Legolas' everything he knew, and slowly grew to love that strange elf.  
  
Yet there was Aragorn. He came when Legolas was younger, and he left the elf speechless. Haldir knew that love struck gaze of his friend's eyes, for he expected that to be what he looked like as he watched Legolas from afar. The man and Legolas spent most days of that time together, inseparable. It was the fragmenting of Haldir's budding relationship.  
  
When Legolas departed to Imladris by the summons of Elrond, Haldir knew he would never see that elf again as he once was. He could feel it in his heart, the pain that he felt as he watched Legolas ride away. He was leaving Haldir, for good.  
  
Even after returning to Lothlorien though, Haldir did not shake that elf's face. His dreams were plagued by visions of Legolas, one of the bodies piled on a battle field, or lying dead alone in some unknown land. Now, he feared for the elf's life.  
  
When Legolas and his companions came to Lothlorien, Haldir saw clearly the change in his friend. He was always by the side of Aragorn, always showing him the warmth and love, the warmth Haldir was denied. He was still friendly to Haldir, yes, but little did they speak, unlike those times long gone.  
  
The next time he saw the elf was when he came with a large entourage of elves to the wedding of Lady Arwen and the King of Men, Aragorn. Legolas was not the same as he was long before. His heart was troubled; he did not speak much at all to anyone. He spent most days alone, riding far out, sometimes, Haldir believed, all the way to the sea. He would spend the day away and return late at night, always his eyes glittering with unshed tears. Haldir watched many a day as his companion wasted away into despair.  
  
And he avoided Aragorn. Legolas would not talk to the man, not even acknowledge him when they passed. Instead, he sped up his pace and left the man. Haldir saw clearly the tension between them, crackling in the air. Sometimes though, he would watch as Aragorn turned around to gaze at the retreating back of Legolas with longing, such grief in his eyes.  
  
Haldir had heard the fateful message of the Lady Galadriel, the night when her voice rose high above the noise of Caras Galadhon and soared into boughs far above, though it was only a whisper, a small breath:  
  
"The fate of Middle-earth is decided, yet men still hang upon the fragility of a leaf, green now in the brightness of his glory, yet so quick to brown and wither that he would ruin the kingdom of men before it ever began to build its glory."  
  
A messenger was sent that night to Minas Tirith to bear the message.  
  
And to end the purest love between Legolas and Aragorn.  
  
Haldir shifted slightly to lay the elf down upon the ground, for now, Legolas was fast asleep. He clung tightly to Haldir's tunic, yet he gingerly pried the delicate fingers from his clothing and carefully brought them to rest on the soft grass. Legolas moaned something to the sound of 'Aragorn' before drifting back into sleep.  
  
I hoped you like it so far! Please review and tell me if you even think this story will work! I am skeptical right now myself. 


	2. The Many Lonely Roads

Chapter 2

            When Legolas awoke, it was to see Haldir sitting beside him, lost in thought.  The sun had risen far above the horizon, now mid-morning.  

            "Hello," Haldir said warmly.  Legolas weakly smiled back.  

            The rode for the morning, leisurely, sometimes exchanging a few words (but these are very fragmented, for Legolas didn't speak much), but mostly riding in silence with their own thoughts.  

           By nightfall they had reached a town, but Legolas advised staying away from it.  Haldir shrugged his shoulders, content enough that the elf had at least said something,  

            A bright fire burned on the plain, and Legolas could see Haldir's face outlined in the flickering light.  He sat pensively staring into the ever changing depths, his eyes so forlorn.  He sighed and rested his chin on his palm, his blonde hair falling across his face.  Legolas felt a familiar burn in his chest as he saw that sculpture of elvish beauty.  

            He could not deny the long lost feelings for this elf he once harbored.  Long time mentor and friend, constant companion, always there.  Legolas knew the elf dearly loved him, but he felt sometimes that he could not return this, and this plagued him horridly.  Every time he would shout at that elf, he would inwardly cringe.  Every time Haldir tried to show him love, Legolas would half-heartedly return it.  

            And then Aragorn came.  

            The man was stunning perfection, not elvish perfection, but everything about him was right.  He visited Mirkwood with an entourage of elves from Imladris.  At that time Legolas had been about eighteen in human years, and the man swept him away.  

            They spent much of the time together, riding through the forests, training, talking, and laughing.  Legolas could tell that this man was far more than he could ever dream of.  He never wanted those two weeks to end, never.  

            Haldir did.  He knew Haldir secretly loathed the man.  He was obviously a roadblock in the considered relationship between the two elves.  Legolas never thought of Haldir as much more than just a small crush and never considered he ever would, but Haldir did.  

            A vision suddenly floated before Legolas' eyes, that quite night in a glen not far from the palace of Mirkwood, a secluded hiding place.  Legolas cringed and tried to not recall such a painful time, yet he could not, and he felt himself slipping into it.  

            _The moon shone through the twisted branches of towering trees, beams of light dotting a small glen.  The grass was soft underfoot, and Legolas fell upon it in happiness.  Beside him fell another body, a young man's form.  He rolled over and looked Aragorn in the eye.  _

_            "Now do you see why I love the forest so much, why I treasure the stars?" he asked.  Aragorn smiled and nodded.  _

_            "How could I not?" Legolas laughed, bells chiming in his voice.  He lifted himself on one elbow to look out over the clearing.  Aragorn cocked his head, puzzled.  Legolas grinned at the man beside him and looked straight into his eyes.  Those eyes, they were so deep, so impenetrable.  He felt himself slipping on a precipice on which he stood for quite a many days, falling into those depths.  Before he knew what he was doing, he bent down and kissed the man, on the cheek.  He felt the man stiffen, and Legolas backed away, standing as he did.  Aragorn sat up and looked and the retreating back of the Elvin prince as Legolas hurried away._

_            Haldir, Legolas now knew, had watched that intimate display.  It was really nothing more than a peck on the cheek, but in that brief time it said so much.  It said every word Legolas could not say then, _nor can I say them any longer.  Mela, Melamin, what are these words to me now?  They mean nothing!__

_            Despite the self control he tried to gain while riding, Legolas felt tears creeping down his cheeks.  He hadn't cried for the entire day, and he would not now.  Rolling over so Haldir did not see those errant tears, he squeezed his eyes shut and fell deep into sleep.  _

***

            Aragorn did not leave Legolas' room until early the next morning, and then only by the summons of Lady Arwen.  She came in search for him and found him in a heap on the floor.  At first, she worried he had died sometime in the night, but when she rolled him over, she found he was just sleeping.              

            "What have I done?" he asked suddenly.  They now sat together in the shade of a large tree, the mid-morning sun shining down upon them.  Arwen turned her worried gaze on him, and pleading eyes stared listlessly back at her.  

            "Whatever do you mean?" she questioned gently.  Aragorn was not himself.  He put his head in his hands and his entire body shook.  _What would trouble him to tears?  _

_            He turned a strangely dry face to her again, his lip trembling.  _

            "He is gone."  Arwen did not want to believe what she heard.  Could it be true?  Was he lamenting the loss of that elf, his companion?  _His lover, she thought with distaste.  "I hurt him and he left.  I tried to save him, but he will fade.  He is gone."  _

            Before she could respond, an arrow soared through the air.  Aragorn saw as it pierced Arwen straight though.  She gasped once before her eyes glazed over, and she slumped to the ground.  

            At first, Aragorn did not fully understand what had happened.  One moment, Arwen was alive, and the next, she was impaled upon the shaft of an arrow.  For a small fraction of time, her face was Legolas', but that faded, and Aragorn felt within him complete loss.  

            "Arwen?" he questioned, lifting her up.  The cream colored dress she wore was covered with fresh blood, seeping from her wound.  Aragorn paled.  Blood he had seen, but never the blood of one so close to him.  Never...

            _Her face was Legolas'.  _

***

            Elrond sat at a table, enjoying this hour of lunch outside on his private chamber's balcony.  In only a day, his daughter was to be wed to Aragorn.  In his heart he felt a great cloud of foreboding, but he tried to appear as jovial as any other guest here, which he found quite difficult.  

            _"It must be wonderful, to have your daughter married to the future king of men."_

_            "That elf daughter of yours, the Lady Arwen, her beauty is of none of have seen."_

_            "Arwen..."_

_            "You..."_

_            "The future king must be..."_

_            The list went on and on.  Elrond pounded his fist on the table in frustration, mentally thinking all of his desired responses to those questions, none of which he ever said.  To only tell them his inner pain, what turmoil he felt.  It was not Arwen's place here; she was never the jewel of Aragorn's affection.  Legolas fully deserved that.  _

            _Damn you Galadriel!  You and your prophecies!  But he never doubted her for an instant.  _

            The wind blew towards him, from the borders of a small forest nearby, and he closed his eyes, letting it sweep away his tensions, calm his soul...

            "The Lady Arwen is wounded!  Bring healers immediately!  Help her, dammit!"

            When Elrond finally reached the hall where he knew his daughter would be kept, he was out of breath from his exertion.  He heard Aragorn's cry as he rode to the palace gates, and in only seconds, Elrond was racing through the labyrinth of corridors.  

            The door the room was open.  Crowded around a bed were at least ten healers, all bustling about in almost panic.  Aragorn was shouting at them, curing, yelling, and urging them to work harder and faster.  

            _Quite a contrast to his apathy only hours before he left._

_            Elrond shoved through the mass of healers and made it to his daughter's bedside.  What sight assaulted him there would haunt him for the rest of his life.  _

            His daughter was gasping for breath, her eyes closed, and the pallor of her face so white she was almost transparent.  Her dark hair was tangled and windblown.  Elrond picked up one of her hands; her skin was clammy.  Bandages wrapped all the way around her chest, almost fully soaked with blood.  

            Aragorn cleared his throat, turning from where he nearly backhanded a healer for dropping some of the needed herbs.  "Elrond, the Lady Arwen, she was shot by a hidden bowmen.  The arrow was long enough and shot fast enough to pierce her through.  Whoever the attacker was did not want her death to be painless though.  He shot below her heart so she would not die instantly."  He paused to let this sink in before breaking the worst of the news.  "And the arrow was of elvish make."  

***

            Legolas wanted to fall down and die.  For two days he and Haldir had ridden, and Legolas did not want anything more than to sink into a pit in the ground.  His friend's advances, discrete as they were, hurt.  Haldir never let that flame within him die, even though Legolas gave up long ago.  

            _Just leave me alone!  I do not want you!  Just because Aragorn..._

_            I still love the man._

_            "Legolas come here and see what I have found!" Haldir cried from in front of him.  Legolas slowed his horse and dismounted, standing now beside Haldir.  _

            The sun was setting in the west, and facing that direction was a small pond.  The sun reflected off of it, dancing along the broken surface.  The sun surrounded the figure of Haldir, shining bright behind him.  He was a dark spot upon it.  

            "This pond, I thought we could camp the night here," he said.  His voice was strange, something in it Legolas had heard all too frequently.  Haldir smiled warmly and approached Legolas, putting his hand on his shoulder.  "You look weary; come, let's sit by the bank."  _Again you try, and again, you will not succeed.  _

_            Legolas complied, his mind not able to do much more than that.  He knew he was walking into a trap, his emotions too fragile to help him now.  _Haldir, maybe I will have a flame tonight.  __

_            The older elf sat down and assisted his friend onto the grass beside him.  Legolas closed his eyes, his mental weariness rushing on him like a gust of wind.  He did not want to think anymore than he had.  Long hours of riding provide much time to think, and Legolas had done enough of that.  _

            "I will always be here for you, Legolas, always," Haldir confided, pulling Legolas in to lean on his shoulder.  His muscles would not move away.  Those words froze him into paralysis.  

            _"I vow never to leave your side, no matter what, Legolas."  _

_            But Haldir is not supposed to say them.  This is wrong; this should not be happening.  _

_            Legolas tried to regain control of his body, but his mind was too weak to comply, and his bones ached with needed comfort.  _

           "I am sorry about what Aragorn did to you.  What a filthy man he is!  Humans, they are not to be trusted, ever.  He only ever hurt you Legolas.  It should not be that way."  Haldir stroked Legolas' hair, an affectionate gesture Aragorn once used with him.  His hand grazed Legolas' ear, and he flinched, enough to pull away.  _Only Aragorn was allowed that comfort.  Haldir let his hands drop, and Legolas just stared back at him._

            Haldir leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart.  "Legolas, I will never harm you," he breathed, the air tickling Legolas' face.  That evoked painful memories.  Aragorn's breath though was sweet, soft; this was harsh.  Haldir placed his hand behind Legolas' head, and they moved closer...

            Legolas gasped and pulled away fast enough so their lips never met.  His eyes were filled with fear, and he backed away, stumbling to get up as he did, panting hard.  Haldir sat dumbstruck.  

            "Don't you dare," Legolas spat, once he was on his feet.  Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he turned on his heel and ran.

***

            Elrond would not believe what his ears told him.  She was not dead.  No, not his Arwen, not his only daughter.  Elves should be immortal, should they not?  Someone's hand came to rest on his shoulder; it was Aragorn.  His eyes were glazed with water, tears Aragorn dare not shed, not just yet.  

            "Come, no matter how many hours you sit, she will not come back.  That was a fatal wound."  His voice trembled.  Elrond shook his head in defiance, but Aragorn squeezed his shoulder, and Elrond felt the truth of his words.  

            "I...I will leave soon.  Please, tell the healers to leave.  I need these moments alone."  He vainly tried to conceal the lump in his throat blocking most speech, but a sob came out at the end.  Aragorn nodded, and as he left, a line of healers trailed behind him.  

            Now alone, Elrond let free the torrent of tears.  He bent low, his forehead resting on Arwen's cold hand.  The tears rolled down that porcelain surface, leaving little marks as they went.  So many pent up years of pain, all compressed into this one moment.  

            "Not Arwen though, not Arwen," he sobbed.  "My daughter!"  

            Aragorn heard Elrond's cries as he walked solemnly through the quite hall.  He knew news had already reached most corners of Minas Tirith by now; the Lady Arwen was dead.  The words stung at him, but Aragorn was determined to block them out until the safety of his own quarters.  

            His royal rooms were quite large and spacious, filled with plush furniture and soft cushions, but Aragorn took the first available place to collapse: the floor.  He put his head on his hands and wept.  

            Arwen, she meant something to him, not to the degree that Legolas (_I mustn't think of him now, I mustn't!) was, but still she was something.  To loose her was a blow to him all the same.  _

            _And I saw Legolas' face.  _

_            Arwen was the only remaining person Aragorn had left.  She was his one last companion, now that Legolas was gone.  To loose her was to loose every link he had to life, to his sanity.  _

            _And I saw Legolas' face.  _

***

Do you remember the starlit nights?

We spent together

Away from strife

Do you remember the blissful days?

We spent a-roaming

My lands again

Do you still feel the caress of my warmth?

In the darkness of night

In the shadows of hate

I will never forget

I can never forget

Every memory of you is a new pain

Yet a new triumph

Every time I look

I see your face

Every plant around me

Every person I see

But can you forgive me?  

Can you love again?

After all the hurt I did to you?

Are you willing? 


	3. The Convicted

Chapter 3

            Only two weeks since the burial of the fair Lady Arwen and already fingers were being pointed.  There was a talk of paid elvish assassins, and every elf still remaining in Minas Tirith was called in for questioning by the king.  

            Aragorn, truthfully, found this dull and fruitless.  These people went on whims, not on evidence.  

            "What do you know of elvish bow making?" he asked the elf that stood in front of him now.  He was a Moriquendi, by the look of him, seemingly human except for his angular ears.  _Legolas' ears were so soft.  But I must not think of him.  _

_            "I know much of bow making," the elf said hesitantly.  "Do you wish a new craftsman?"  Aragorn shook his head, finally lifting it from the resting place cupped in on hand.  _

            "No, I do not, but tell me, where are most long arrows crafted?"  The elf thought for a moment.  

            "Lothlorien, lord," he replied, "though Mirkwood makes a fair number of bows capable of shooting arrows of great length.  If you allow me to examine it, I can precisely tell you from where it came."  With a wave of his hand, Aragorn summoned a servant in one corner of the great hall where he sat.  He emerged, bowed low to Aragorn, and handed him the arrow.  Shivers ran up Aragorn as he recalled that day long past.  

            _But__ I must not think.  I must not remember.  That is past; this is present.  _

_            The elf approached Aragorn, running his hand along the shaft.  He paused at the feathers, feeling of their texture, and nodded in understanding.  _

            "This arrow, it is crafted in Mirkwood, lord, and whoever shot this bow would have to be quite an adept."  

            Aragorn felt his chest tighten and a sudden painful thought hit him, coming unbidden to his mind.  He tried in vain to push it away, accept it as just a sudden burst of memory, but it was too clear.  It dodged his pushing and returned, rooted deep already in his thoughts.  

            "Legolas," he muttered, though he knew that there were many ears in this hall that could hear it: Elrond's personal elvish servants.  Aragorn could not stop that passing of knowledge, and he knew it was already too late to halt the messenger that they would send, with our without his consent.  

            He abruptly rose, and the elf backed away.  Without a backward glance, Aragorn strode out of the hall and into the hallway-balcony.  He paused to look down from his vantage point, at the city bustling with activity below him.  People shouted at each other, merchants selling off their goods, angry women shouting that the price was too high.  

            _I could be like that, living a normal life, only worrying over such petty matters.  But I stand here bearing my mantle of grief upon my shoulders, bending backwards to hold it aloft.  _

_            Aragorn turned from that scene and stormed down the long balcony until he reached its end, where it turned off down another side of the royal complex.  There, the back room of his private chambers awaited him.  _

            Strangely enough, he found his door open.  Aragorn entered hesitantly, glancing around before stepping fully into his sleeping quarters.  

            "Aragorn, if you do not mind me interrupting, I think we must talk," a voice said, traveling with a body that moved from one of his front rooms.  Elrond stepped into view from behind a doorframe, and Aragorn started.  

            "I did not expect to see you here," he said, trying to sound calm and controlled.  _Legolas, I cannot believe you would do that.  He is an innocent elf.  _

_            "I suppose you know then," Aragorn stated, and Elrond nodded solemnly.  "Come though, let us not stand and discuss such matters."  He led the elf into a sitting room.  Inside, there was a round table with large, plush chairs set around it.  Aragorn seated himself in one with a high back and large armrests.  Elrond noted the tenseness in his movements.  "Mlina, could you bring us some tea, perhaps?" he asked a servant who had just entered the room.  She bowed and left just as abruptly.  _

            Elrond saw through this mask.  _Such politeness, yet the conversations will go far past topics to be discussed over a cup of tea.  Come, Aragorn, do not hide around those of greater stature.  _

_            Mlina brought the tea quietly, laying out carefully each mug.  The steaming liquid gave off a sweet aroma, and Elrond lifted the cup to his lips.  Peppermint, as he thought.  _

            "Now," he said, setting his cup down and steeping his hands in front of him.  Aragorn waited patiently at the other side of the table, not even considering drinking his tea.  "Let us not play the fool.  Lay what you know in plain sight, and I shall leave out what I have gathered."  Aragorn leaned back and closed his eyes, deep in thought.  

            "You know what I heard," he whispered, his voice increasing in volume at the end.  He was trying to sound confident, even in the face of such a realization.  _This man thinks that he should be over pain.  Unfortunately, his grief cuts far deeper than the loss of my daughter.  _At the though of Arwen, Elrond felt his throat tighten.  Far past crying, he just now let his voice freeze in his throat when memories became too close.  

            "It cannot be," Aragorn breathed.  Elrond felt a surge of compassion for this man he once considered his foster child, but that lasted only a short while.  What would he say to him; what comforting words were there left for a man with a life as Aragorn's?  

            "There is a possibility."  Heartless.  

            "There should not be!"  Aragorn shouted suddenly.  Elrond jumped in his chair.  When he regained his composure, he saw the man slumped over in his chair, his forehead resting against the cold wood, his fist pounding it and sending tremors across the flat surface.  "No, not Legolas, dammit, no," he sobbed.  Elrond got up from his chair and did what he thought he should do, he draped his arm around Aragorn's shoulder.  Aragorn turned and looked up with swollen eyes at the elf above him.  

            "If we let Legolas return, then we can question him and you can prove his innocence," Elrond tried to reassure the man.  Aragorn shook his head furiously.  

            "No!" he shouted.  He eyes glazed over with tears.  "I will not get in Legolas' way any longer than I have.  I have caused him enough trouble."  His voice was no more than a whisper.  "I cannot be a roadblock in the life he should have.  I have done enough harm."  He suddenly stood, the chair tipping to the ground.  Without even a passing glance at Elrond, he stormed out of the room and down the outside hall.

***

            "Legolas, son of Thranduil, by the orders of the King of Gondor, we take you under custody for questioning," the messenger's voice faded in and out of hearing, vibrating through the many layers of sadness in Legolas' mind.  He saw the face, strong, young, a wide human face with small eyes, but there was no voice to accompany it. 

            "What have I done wrong?" he whispered.  The man bowed his head, his eyes closed, and said with a trembling voice.  

            "You have been charged with the murder of Lady Arwen of Imladris, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven."  Legolas felt his heart tighten in sadness, but he fought to keep back tears.  Arwen, dead?  

            "And Aragorn suspects me guilty?"  The messenger flinched at the harshness in his voice.  

            "His majesty has evidence that directs the blame to you," he said coldly.  Such resentment.  Legolas stiffened, his eyes filling with tears while his nostrils flared.  

            "I suppose he really only wants me to take her place," he spat loudly.  The man glared at Legolas.  

            "Never speak of his majesty in that way!"

            "What would you know of that filth you call your king?" Legolas shouted.  The man hand his hand at his sword hilt now.  He glanced around at his other men, who were slowly closing around Legolas.  The elf felt his hands itching to shoot one through the eyes.  

            "I hereby declare you in the custody of the king, Legolas Elf.  Men, take his weapons and secure him.  We then make haste to Minas Tirith." Legolas fought, lashing out with his fists and screaming mad curses as the men bound his hands and took away his bow.  The messenger smirked and turned away.  

            "Come back, you spineless bastard!  I will rent you apart!  You cannot take me like this!  I never killed Lady Arwen!  I would not dare!  I would not dare murder an elf!"  He lunged forward, but the men shouted and restrained him.  "Dammit, let go of me!  I did nothing wrong!  Nothing at all!"  He felt his strength fading as the men hardened their grip, iron hands clenching hard around his slender arms.  Breathing heavily, Legolas paused, tears flowing freely down his face as he wept.  

            _I will never go back.  Not to him.  Not to Aragorn.  _

_            Not to the Aragorn I love.  _

***

            The city was dark and quite when the messengers returned with their quarry.  They took a soldier's route into the city, away from the front gate so not to attract attention.  Through the guard barracks they traveled, eyes sometimes peering out of windows as they walked, men shouting as they saw the golden figure in the center of the entourage.  

            Lendirn, the head of the messengers, sent on Lord Elrond's orders, listened half-heartedly to the insults thrown at the elf.  Sometimes, objects would sail into the group behind it, but always they missed the intended target.  

            Not that this was the elf sidestepping.  No, three days ago he had gone lifeless, not eating, not drinking, and barely moving other than to walk, and then he barely lifted his feet.  His eyes glazed over with a filmy white, and his face dimmed in its brightness, the skin becoming a dead, grayish color.  Lendirn had never seen that in an elf before.  He had heard that elves could die of sorrow, but he expected that to be painless, a fading away from the earth, a peaceful leaving.  This elf suffered.   

            He shifted in his saddle, the only man with a horse in the group, and turned back.  Men had now lifted the elf up and were carrying him on their shoulders.  His head faced straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the air in front of him.  His mouth was drawn in a tight line, the lips white as his face.  

            "Hurry, men.  The King wants him back alive," he suddenly shouted.  This brought a rush of boos from the onlookers.  

            "Just kill 'em now and get over with it!" one man, his head sticking out of the window of a guard building, shouted.  Lendirn shook his head and turned around again.  

            _The King._Technically, his was disobeying the King's orders, for he was sent on Lord Elrond's will.  He never told his men this, informing them that it was indeed the King of Gondor that wished this meeting.  Lendirn, though, knew much better.  

            After being dismissed by Elrond from his personal chambers, Lendirn saw the King walking solemnly down the corridor.  He bowed low, but the King paid it no heed, immediately entering Lord Elrond's room and closing the door behind him.  

            The entire palace should have heard the fight that ensued.  

            _"Aragorn, we must bring Legolas for questioning."_

_            "No, I cannot.  I will not harm him."  The King's voice trembled.  _

_            "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment.  If he is a murderer, than..."_

_            "But he is not!"  Aragorn choked on a sob.  _

_            "We have no proof of that!  In fact, there is more proof that he is in fact the killer than there is that he is innocent."  Elrond raised his own voice now.  _

_            "I forbid it, as King of Gondor!  Legolas will not feel any more heartache than he needs.  Who knows what seeing me will do to him!  He could die because of that, being innocent or guilty."  _

_            "I understand your pain, Aragorn, but please, hear me out.  I think it wise to do this.  You can question him, and if he is innocent, you can send him on his way.  Your soul will be free of that burden of question."_

_            "My soul will never be free of any burden.  Guilt anchors guilt.  One cannot leave without the other, but the other will not leave without it, and so ever weaving a pain of eternal heartache."  He wept then.  Elrond cleared his throat.  _

_            "Aragorn, do not try to let him free.  We must question him, to make sure."_

_            "What about your men, Elrond?  Do you not constantly trade with Mirkwood?  Could it be one of your elves?  You never suggest that!  You point the blame at Legolas.  All because your daughter never became queen..."_

_            "You know that is not true!" Elrond roared.  "Ever step of the way I tried to persuade her that her love was one sided.  She would have left for the havens..."_

_            "But Galadriel..."  Aragorn gulped and held back another sob.  _

_            At that time, Lendirn left the two to their own, hearing the conversation suddenly stop.  Already, he heard too much.  _

            Rounding a corner, Lendirn found himself on the long roadway that led to the entrance to the royal palace.  He spurred his horse to a trot, reaching the gate long before his men.  

            "State your business!" a watchman called from the top of the gate.  

            "I bring the elf Legolas of Mirkwood.  You will permit me passage, by order of the King,"

***

            Pain.  Pain and longing.  Burning in his heart.  The world hurt.  It hurt to watch it pass while he was helpless.  Every bone was cold, deadweight on his already troubled mind.  Each time he moved, the ice clanked, grinding that made his sensitive ears burn.  But the warmth was momentary.  Then, he would return to cold.  His only wish was that he would loose touch with the wasted body, his spirit flying free on the winds of time.  He could soar away, on silver wings that bore him to the halls of his ancestors.  Such joy!  But always, the cold replaced joy.  

            Now, there was no cold; there was no fire; there was not even joy.  There was nothing, complete blackness that covered ever part of his mind and blanketed him in the bliss of numbness.  All around, he could hear singing, coming from the heart of the darkness.  It called to him, those voices, fair and light.  They soared up into the far reaches of the black, then plunging into deep, enchanting rhythms, beating to the constant time of his heart.  High notes rang above them, acting as a counter melody to the constant drum.  

            The voices faded, the blackness fading, and he expected to see fields, bright fields, forests of ageless trees, lakes of shimmering blue, cerulean skies without a trace of clouds.  

            But there was light.  The light shone from one place and grew, radiating out in the dark.  Shadows faded, his vision cleared, and he felt the cold returning painfully.  The light drew ever nearer, increasing in speed.  There was a hurried clank, and the light was upon him, wrapping around his body.  The touch was warm, too warm though, and he shied away from the burning.  Even the cold was more of a comfort than this.  He could not move, paralyzed by the feel of strength returning to his frozen limbs.  The fire that burned within grew, and he thought it would consume him, destroy every shred of sanity he had.  He frantically tried to pull away, though his body did not budge.  There was noise in his ears, and the fire scorched the delicate lobes.  But he could not resist the words.  

            "Don't die on me.  Please, come back.  Don't die."  The fire suddenly let free water, and he felt the flames subsiding as the droplets of rain fell onto him.  His eyes unclouded, his vision returning, and he could feel the hard ground below him.  The man was not finished speaking though, and now, he listened to the words.  

            "I am sorry.  I don't care what punishment you bring, but do not die!  Mela, do not die."  

            _And__ I vow I will never leave you either.  _

_            We will never part.  _

_            My love.  _


	4. Unbreakable Vows

Chapter 4

            "What have you done?"  Elrond turned abruptly from where he stood to see Aragorn at his door, breathless.  His eyes were red from yet another bout of tears.  He stormed into the room, stopping a few paces from the elf.  "What have you done to him?"  Elrond sighed mentally, cursing Legolas' guards for actually letting the man in.  

            "Aragorn, I had to do it..."

            "He is dying in there!  Have you seen him?  He could not even register who I was with any response.  He merely shied away, making some strange noises.  He is dying of grief," he whispered the last sentence.  Elrond nodded in understanding.  

            "Yes, but shall get better.  His grief is from the separation from..."

            "There is no separation grief here.  It is the grief of loosing a lover.  It is the grief of loosing his closest companion since his early years.  He...will...die!"  Elrond remained still unwavering, and Aragorn roared and turned around, kicking the nearest table.  The jar of water on it splattered over the floor and a nearby chair, and the ornate wood piece toppled to the ground.  

            "He will come back to himself.  You can help there."  

            "I will not bend to your will."  

            "I only think for you when I do this, Aragorn," Elrond almost pleaded.

            "My concern?  You only mean to do this for your concern!  He "killed" your daughter!  You are doing this for your own reason!"  Aragorn turned abruptly away, and stomped out of the room.  Elrond watched the door slam, and he felt despair creeping into his heart.  

            _I must consult with Galadriel.  _

***

           Legolas woke to the chirping of birds.  His whole body ached just with the fluttering of his eyelids.  Around him, he saw fuzzy images, illuminated by faint rays of morning sunlight peeking through a barred window.  He groaned and blinked to clear his vision.  

            Around him was a plain room, very small and cramped.  A high window was above him, facing east, with the sun directly in front of it.  Plain stone covered ever surface, the floors and the walls.  To one side was a heavy iron door, a small square hole cut in the top, bars crossing it.  

            _So__ I am in a cell.  _

_            In Minas Tirith._

_            The darkness crept back on him, but a barrier there was now, and Legolas let it fall away.  Aragorn had convicted him of this crime.  He should know better than to suspect Legolas of such a crime.  _

            He was watching his own thoughts from the outside, his mind floating in and out of a cloudy barrier.  Legolas shifted his weight, and the cloud lifted a little.  

            Somewhere, in the vast palace, walked his lover, his melamin, his Aragorn.  Sometime, he would face him again, in trial.  Someday, he would look him in the eye and feel his love burning again, and he would not resist.  Someday...

            The door burst open with a thud, and a guard walked in, sneering as he folded his arms across his chest.  

            "By order of the King, you have been given better quarters, _elf," he spat the last word like poison.  "You should feel lucky."  Legolas did not move.  "Come on, you fool, get up and out of here!  Or do you want to stay here?  I would be just as pleased that way, though I doubt the King would."  Legolas frantically shook his head to clear the fog.  _

            "So Aragorn has given me a better chamber?" he asked hesitantly.  

            "Get up!"  Legolas stood, balancing himself on the wall, and walked on shaky legs to the door.  The man turned before he could reach it, leaving the Elf to make his way to the mysterious room on his own.  

            It was not hard to find, luckily, since a nice servant named Mlina knew exactly where it was.  She led Legolas to the room and closed the door behind her.  It was plain enough, with a bed, a nightstand, and a chair, but it was an improvement to the old cell.  There was also a seaward facing widow that could be opened, to bring the fresh breeze to Legolas.  His heart stirred, not for the sea, but for Aragorn, and Legolas angrily squelched that feeling, his anger trying hard to replace it.  

            "I want to see him again," he confided to the room as he fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.  On it was a design of the City, the moon to one side of it, and the sun to the other.  Directly above it was a seabird, spread in flight.  Legolas' heart pulled for that bird, longing to grasp it, and he stretched his hand up skyward.  

            There was a knock at the door, and Legolas stood, walking to it to open it.  When he did, he found the hall deserted, strangely.  He wondered if he had been hearing things, but that was very unlikely.  He shook his head and closed the door, content to take it as a teasing gesture by one of his many haters, and he fell back into the world of dreams where he could peacefully live without intrusion of unwanted characters.  

***

            Aragorn was very out of breath by the time he had run through most of the castle to reach his room, just to avoid the sight of his once beloved.  He was absurd, knocking on the door in hopes that Legolas would answer.  What would he say?  What would he do?  Rarely was the King at a loss for words, but as his hand reached up to touch the wood, his throat tightened and his mind froze.  

            "I will see him in a week," he concluded.  Then, he could prove Legolas' innocence, and send him on his way, on the fastest steed he could find, so that he would make it Valinor.  "I have done enough to hinder him, and now, I must help him all that I can."  Still, in his heart was foreboding, a feeling of imminent loss and destruction, and Aragorn hung his head even as he considered the brightest outcomes of the forthcoming exchange.  

***  
  


            "I announce the coming of Legolas, son of Thranduil, price of Mirkwood," called a herald as the doors swung open for Legolas.  His muscles were stiff as he walked inside the circular hearing room.  To each side were large crowds of people, some jeering at him, some weeping, some barely being restrained by the guards.  Legolas looked straight ahead to ignore them, but that proved a fatal mistake, for sitting in the front of the hall, upon a stone throne, regal and proud was Aragorn.  His untamable brown hair had somehow been pulled away from his eyes and partly tied back.  He wore beautiful clothing, his over tunic adorning the symbol of Gondor, the tree with seven stars above it.  Their eyes met, and Legolas felt his feet falter, but with the shove of a guard, he moved to the center of the room, surrounded on all sides.  

            "Legolas," pain was evident in Aragorn's voice, "son of Thranduil, you are convicted of the murder of Lady Arwen of the house of Elrond.  What do you have to say for yourself?"  

            At first, Legolas could not get his mouth to move, but finally, he produced sound.   

            "I do not see what fool would come up with such an accusation," he spat directly at Aragorn, expecting him to be behind it.  "I would never dare kill one of my own elvin kindred, no less Lady Arwen."  Aragorn nodded approvingly.  Suddenly, a man beside him, once unnoticed, stood.  It was Elrond.  

            "If I may, Lord Aragorn, I wish to speak.  Was it not true that Legolas harbored jealous feelings towards Arwen?"  Legolas took a deep breath, clenching his jaw.  

            "There may have been jealously, but it was never to the extent that I would dare harm her."  It was true; Legolas could not lie well at all, now least of all time.  "If this all the proof on which _the King_ goes by, then he is more incompetent than originally thought!"  There was uproar, but Aragorn stood, silencing them all.  He then sat again in a flow of his garments.  Elrond still bored into Legolas with his piercing gaze.  

            "Legolas, the arrow with which was used to kill Arwen was one that would have to have been shot by an archer of much skill, and the bow would have to have been quite long in size.  Only Mirkwood and Lothlorien make these bows.  Do you carry a long bow with you sometimes?"  

            "Yes."  Aragorn flinched, his eyes misting over at the response, but he soon gathered his composure.  

            "Lord Elrond, that will be enough for now," he commanded.  Elrond shot him a slight glare before settling into his chair.  Other men who were also seated beside him whispered to themselves.  "Legolas, do you suppose that you could assist in finding the murderer of Lady Arwen?"  It was just then that Legolas realized the formality with which Aragorn spoke of Arwen.  

            "I do not see why I would assist you!" he shouted before he could control himself.  A great roar rose from every spectator, except for Aragorn.  Guards surged forward to surround Legolas and restrain them, and he let them hold him back without a thought, beating him to the ground and cursing him.  

            "Stop it!  Do not harm him!"  Aragorn cried above the din.  "I command you to stop!"  The entire hall stopped suddenly.  Legolas looked up through clouded eyes, seeing the circle around him drift away.  Blood seeped from a corner of his mouth, and he could barely see a figure come and pick him up, strong, familiar arms cradling him.  He hid in the warmth and let the man carry him out of hall, leaving the astonished people behind.  

            All at once, the hall burst into another fit.  Men cried after the King, telling him to put down the killer, to let them have him.  The guards knew that they had to protect the King, so they led the mob away, despite the resistance.  All the while, Aragorn was hurrying back to his own room, Legolas sobbing in his arms.  

            Once there, Aragorn put Legolas down on the bed and hurried to a cabinet to one side, pulling out some bandages.  The wounds were not bad, but the Elf had little resistance now to death, and even something as harmless as this could cause him to slip into the impenetrable abyss beyond.  

            "Nin mela, it is alright, they are gone," he whispered as he rolled the elf over.  There were whip wounds on his back.  He lifted off the elf's tunic gently, making sure not to cause the fragile prince any more pain.  The raw skin throbbed, and Aragorn hurried away to get a mortar and make a salve to put onto them.  Legolas, all the while, was still sobbing, though Aragorn doubted it was from physical pain.  "I am coming back, my love.  I am."  He brought back the salve and gingerly applied it.  

            "No, I don't want to see you," Legolas murmured.  "I never want to see you again, my love."  

            "You will not see me, then," Aragorn replied as he wrapped bandages around the elf.  

            "Don't leave me!" he cried, suddenly latching onto Aragorn's wrist.  Aragorn caressed his hand and smiled, laying it to rest by Legolas' side.  He rolled the elf over to assess his other wounds.  There were a few scrapes, but nothing major.  His blue eyes glistened, and Aragorn reached down to his porcelain face and wiped away the tears.  Legolas closed his eyes and groaned.  Aragorn's fingers ran over his lips, then along his cheek to his ear.  The angular projection was just as soft and tender as ever, and Legolas flinched when he touched it, though he did not pull away.  

            "Mela," he muttered, bending down over the Elf.  Legolas' eyes opened, and then closed as Aragorn gently kissed his lips.  Legolas reached his burning arms up and wrapped them around Aragorn's neck.  His hair felt clean, not greasy as usual, but was familiar, and comforting.  

            "I never want you to go," he muttered as Aragorn straightened up, avoiding Legolas' pleading eyes as he did.  

            "I will return," he comforted the elf.  

            "We were gone too long."  

            "Pain," Aragorn breathed.  

            "I felt pain because I lost you."  

            "I have you back."  Aragorn kissed the elf's forehead, smoothing his hair, but Legolas heard not his words, for he had fallen into rest in the peace of his lover's presence.  

***

            _The __forest__ of __Ithilien__ glowed with starlight, the boughs of sturdy trees swaying in the gentle breeze.  Legolas looked up, still humming the tune of a song to himself.  Promise hung in the air, and his face broke into a gentle smile as he stroked the leaf of a passing tree.  Frodo and Sam, safe back from Mordor, the war over, the lands and peace... and Aragorn still alive.  _

_            Still, despite even the last of these joys, there was darkness in his heart, for when Aragorn ascended to the throne, beside him, as his beloved, Legolas would stand.  He would live out his life in the realm of Gondor.  The words of the song called to him again, and he began to sing quietly beneath his breath, but even though the melody was uplifting, his voice was melancholy and forlorn:_

_To the Sea, to the Sea!__  The white gulls are crying._

_The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying._

_West, west away, the round sun is falling.  _

_Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,_

_The voices of my people that have gone before me?___

_I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;_

_For our days are ending and our years falling,_

_I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing..._

            _"I do hope these words are only in song and not in heart," said a voice behind Legolas.  He whirled to find Aragorn, leaning on the trunk of a tree, smiling slightly.  Legolas let out a breath and came to him.  _

_            "Of course, a'melamin.  Did you expect that I would desert you, even if it was for the shores of the West?"  _

_            "You want to go to those lands, though," Aragorn replied with concern.  Legolas let out an exasperated sigh.  _

_            "Yes, I do not deny my desire to see Valinor beyond, but no beauty of any of the Magic Isles compares to that of you."  Aragorn crossed the rest of the distance between them, and Legolas closed his eyes as Aragorn ran his hand down the elf's cheek.  _

_            "My love, it is over," he whispered in the angular ear.  "The war of the Ring is come to a close."  _

_            "So long ago it seemed we were in Rivendell, only considering the Quest.  You were fearful, knowing that it would bring to this side of Middle-Earth, near to Gondor."_

_            "I fear not know, for I have you with me," he muttered in response, kissing Legolas passionately on the lips.  _

_            Legolas stirred in his sleep but he did not awaken.  Blurred images passed before his eyes as he rolled over, moaning, groping for a body that was not there.  _

            _Now, he was on the ground, Aragorn on him.  Legolas let the man run his hands along his ears, moaning as he kissed the elf down his neck.  _

_            His vision clouded, and the dream filled with mist.  _

            _Voices cried out for Aragorn, but the couple ignored them, too engrossed in their own passions to hear the desperate note that tinted each call.  Legolas faintly heard running feet crunching the underbrush and hurrying closer and closer.  A warm kiss from Aragorn brought him back to his pleasures.  The man ran his lips down the elf's neck and shoulder.  _

_            "My lord, elves from Lothlorien come with urgent news.  The Lady Galadriel is here herself!" the messenger cried, almost to the two men on the ground.  Aragorn craned his head that way, but he paid it little heed until the unfortunate man was upon them.  He gasped, turning.  _

_            "My lord, The Lady Galadriel must speak with you immediately," he stammered.  Aragorn was standing now, Legolas beside him.  "Alone," the man added as he looked at the inseparable pair.  Legolas turned his pleading, blue eyes on Aragorn, who squeezed the pale hand before striding to the messenger.  Legolas did not make to follow; the darkness in the edges of his heart crept around to envelop his soul._

_            No dream was there that could have been more painful for Legolas at the time, and only to make matters worse, he woke to find his back throbbing in pain and his head aching.  He rolled over, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling, then realized where he was.  _

            His hands crept to his face to hide it from awful images, but before he could do anything, a hand pulled his arms down to rest by his sides.  

            "Do not be troubled, Legolas."  The voice was somewhat unfamiliar: not cheerful, but not perfectly cold either, though there were undertones of hate in that voice.  Legolas opened his eyes, and beside him was Elrond, his cold eyes the same, his face still stern, though there were lines of fatigue there Legolas had not seen before.  "Aragorn would be here himself, though he doubted that you would enjoy his company at the present time.  Also, he is currently making decisions on yesterday's trial, as he must, despite its abrupt ending."  Elrond coughed.  Legolas could not bring himself to say anything; his mind and heart and suddenly become devoid of all thought and emotion.  He was a shell, sucking up the words that Elrond spoke to store.  

            "I suspect that someone will send word for you when he makes the verdict."  Was that distaste in Elrond's voice.  "He should do this, so emotionally tied to you."  The words floated over Legolas, but life crept back.  "No, I should not tell you, but I must.  You caused much despair, Legolas son of Thranduil.  Mayhap Galadriel's prophecy was in fact true, but we heard her wrong.  Your sending has brought much despair.  Arwen—" Both sat for a while in brooding silence, until, strangely, Legolas spoke.  

            "I would never murder Lady Arwen," his voice shook with anger.  He sat up in bed, suddenly looking Elrond in the eyes.  "Did you not trust me once, lord Elrond?  Why is it that now you question me?"  

            "She was my daughter," Elrond whispered hotly.  "Do you expect for me to sit by and let it pass that an _elf shot her?  Do you think I could accept that the culprit should go untried just because they were someone close to me, someone I knew?!"  _

            "What culprit?  I see no guilty elf in this room, in all of Minas Tirith, I suppose!"  It was at that moment that the door burst open to the room, and a breathless elf rushed in.  His blonde hair flew behind him as he rushed to the bedside.  Legolas stiffened, his nostrils flaring.  

            "Legolas," Haldir said breathlessly.  "They said you were here!  You ran off— and I wanted to make sure that you were alright."  For the first time, he noticed Elrond.  "Lord Elrond," he said respectfully, bowing slightly before turning to Legolas.  "Such sad news, is it not, that the fair Lady Arwen is dead?"  Elrond coughed again, and Haldir closed his eyes in mourning.  "She shall be remembered for a long while after.  Tell me, why are you here?  Surely it is not just for the mourning of Arwen, for she died at least two weeks ago."  Legolas took a deep breath, but his blue eyes flickered with malice.  

            "If you wish it known, then I shall tell you.  I have returned, convicted of the crime of the murder of Lady Arwen."  Haldir's face hardened and he turned to Elrond, who had gotten up and was standing a little ways off like a statue.  

            "Appalling, that news is to me.  For any to believe that you would dare to kill kindred—"

            "Haldir," Legolas interrupted tiredly.  "If you do not mind, I was at the current time, discussing matters with Elrond.  I wish to speak with you yes, but now is not a good time.  I understand your concern, but you also must understand me, for now.  We can converse later, if I get a chance."  The older elf's face fell, but he nodded.  

            "I understand.  Most likely, you will find me in one of the gardens.  Let us talk there as soon as possible.  Lord Elrond," he extended his hand in farewell before backing out of the room and shutting the door behind him.  Legolas let out a barely audible sigh.  

            "I would not consider our argument to be a discussion," Elrond stated once Haldir had left.  Legolas turned to him, holding back his surging emotions.  

            "Please...leave me for now also.  I have much to consider, and I need to do it in privacy.  I wish neither anger nor friendship to impede my thoughts."  He turned his now cloudy blue eyes on Elrond, and he understood that the prince was very close to breaking under whatever it was that currently troubled him.  

            "I understand," Elrond said as he left Legolas alone in the Aragorn's chambers.  

            The elf put his head between his knees, closed his eyes wearily.  The storm had just begun.   


	5. The Setting of the Sun

Chapter 5

            "Lord Aragorn, if it was that would ask my council," Faramir said as he stared at the King, lost deep in thought.  

            "I ask no council of any," he said shortly.  "Only a little peace in which to consider the matters at hand."  Faramir turned to leave the throne room, but he halted.  

            "My lord please, for the sake of all people of Minas Tirith, do not let emotions cloud your clear sight."  With that, he departed, leaving the King in pensive silence.  

            Aragorn sighed and rested his hands on his knees, his head in his palms.  If there was ever a time he could do that, it would be now, but little chance there was of that.  Was he in denial?  Did Legolas take his hate to that level?  Surely not, but the possibility remained.  

            He felt tears creeping into his eyes.  He knew whom he should hand it off to, but he could not bring himself to condemn Legolas, not now, not ever.  

            "Bring me Faramir, and Lord Elrond," he whispered to darkness.  "I summon them."  

            "I cannot continue this way," he muttered when they were in the room.  

            "You want us to pass judgment on Legolas' fate," Elrond stated.  "I understand."  Aragorn looked up and felt the weight of those words.  

            "The people will not be pleased of their King failing like this," Faramir said.  "Should we pass the word under your name...?"

            "Decide what you will!  I have no care for image!" he shouted, rising.  "Make you decision quickly, for Legolas should not be held here anymore.  By nightfall, I want word of the verdict."  He left, intent on wandering through the woods on his mind where he could leave his pain behind.

***

            "By order of the King, Legolas son of Thranduil, you are hereby summoned to the throne room for the final judgment," a messenger called from behind the closed door.  Legolas rose elegantly his head clear as he opened the door.  The messenger smiled darkly at him and beckoned down the hall.  Legolas let him lead him to the room, even though he already knew where it lay.  

            The wide doors opened to reveal the room, halfway lit; the day was cloudy, and the lamps did not provide enough light.  Aragorn sat on the throne, and even in the gloom Legolas saw the hint of tears on his cheeks.  Beside him were the solemn figures of Elrond and Faramir.  Both were emotionless masks, though a hint of anger and pity flashed before Elrond's eyes.  

            "My Lord, I bring you Legolas of Mirkwood," the messenger announced before backing out of the hall.  It was to be a private meeting.

***

            Haldir wandered aimlessly through one of the gardens in the palace of Minas Tirith, sometimes running his hand along a tree trunk, sometimes humming to himself.  His head was light, despite the dark appearance of the royal home.  A cloud of sorrow hung about it, but Haldir pierced it without a care, striding into its midst and smiling around him.  

            That smile faded when his thoughts turned to Legolas.  Just a comforting gesture, a loving hand extended to him, but the elf refused.  Haldir paused and sent an involuntary glare to the center of the palace.  To hurt Legolas so, and then, he still loved the man...

            "Where is Legolas anyhow?" Haldir wondered.  He said he would meet Haldir in one of the gardens; maybe he was at the wrong one.  Haldir made to leave for the next garden, but before he could, he heard a cry of anguish.  He paused, but he suspected its cause.  Without a pause, Haldir began to walk briskly to the throne chambers of the King himself.  

***  
  


            Legolas could not hear, his eyes would not see.  Around him was a buzz of noise, yet there was no sound in the silent room.  His body was numb and cold, and he did not feel his own shaking.  His mind blanked; every sensation was like the last, a movement suspended in time for all to see.  Someone spoke, but he did not hear.  Movements, shifting, but there was nothing to move.  His legs froze, and his vision clouded.  Somewhere out there, he saw a small glimmer, but it faded.  All his strength left him, but he did not fall.  The void of emptiness quickly covered him, and he did not strain against its grasp.  The anguish, or what it anguish?  What plagued his mind?  Was it happiness?  Was it sick elation?  Did he feel pain?  Was there pain left to feel?  

            Words came back to him, the unwavering judgment of Elrond.  His voice was flat, but in it, Legolas heard hesitations, regret, and loss.  Legolas gulped to prepare himself as the words sunk in yet again.  

            "Legolas, by the judgment and wisdom of Lord Faramir and me, Lord Elrond, we hereby condemn you for the brutal death of Lady Arwen.  The law of Gondor will put you to death in exactly one week from this day.  Forthwith, you shall be removed to the quarters of those awaiting their death, apart from the city..."  

            Suddenly, painful reality returned.  Legolas and sunk to the ground, shaking uncontrollably.  Aragorn was in front of him, upon his kingly throne, sitting still as stone, just as shocked as Legolas was by the news.  His eyes did not move from staring at a point above the door to the throne room.  Faramir gulped nervously as silence ensued.  Elrond, too, shifted his weight.  

            "Why do you wait a week?"  Legolas asked in a hushed voice.  Elrond turned to him now, startled.  "Kill me now, if you wish to convict me of this crime.  End it all!  You have already done enough harm!"  He rose, and turning, made to walk out of the hall.  

            "If you leave, Legolas Price of Mirkwood, guards would kill you," Elrond warned.  Legolas paused, tilting his head towards the sound.  

            "Give me no pity; I deserve none."  He shoved open one of the large doors, letting in a torrent of rain.  He stepped out into the storm outside, letting the water fall along him as he stood in the threshold.  

            And he let out a great cry.  

            It was the cry an elf made when torn between happiness and anger, fear and courage, anguish and love, pity and selfishness.  It was the cry of an elf near to death, an elf near to finding a way to make their end.  It was the cry of outrage, at those behind him.  Legolas took a breath, only to spin sharply around and glare at those within.  

            "If this was the society in which I was to live when wed to Lord Aragorn, then I thank fate for choosing this road.  I would have killed Arwen once, tenfold, if it would have brought such an end as this."  He closed his eyes and stormed off into the rain.  

***  
  


            Haldir found the golden prince huddled beneath a tree, a small ball of wet clothing and hair.  He ran to Legolas, lifting up the unconscious head.  He gasped at the pallor of Legolas' face and quickly lifted him up to carry him inside.  Held tightly even as he was, Haldir barely felt a pulse.  He quickened his step to his room.  

            "Haldir, why do you keep on forcing me to live?"  Legolas whispered suddenly.  Haldir started after dozing off in the Elvish dream world in the chair beside the bed.  Legolas had sat up, and he was staring at Haldir with listless eyes.  "What more is there for me to live for?  I would not live long as it is."  

            "Go to Valinor.  You have a magnificent life ahead of you.  We can leave once you are looking better..."

            "What good would it do?  They would track me down and kill me.  Haldir, death, its so close.  I am an immortal elf, immune to aging.  Why is death here?  I shouldn't be brought down so easily."  Bile collected in Haldir throat, and he gulped it down.  

            "They..."

            "Yes," Legolas muttered.  Haldir reached forward and took the elf's hand, cradling it in his own.  Legolas did not bother to flinch, but even in Haldir's heart, he found this little joy.  

            "Legolas, you speak false words, you must."  He pulled Legolas, and felt that the elf was near to breakdown, but he could not cry.  His grief was that beyond any human tears.  Haldir cradled him now, rocking him back and forth, holding back his own torrent of fear.  He ran his hand along the golden hair, then down Legolas' cheek.  Legolas looked up at him with pleading eyes and mouthed the word 'stop'.  Haldir let his hand fall, but he did not relinquish his embrace.  

            "We will escape," Haldir vowed to the dark of the storm that day.  "I will get you to the ships, and you will find Valinor, and you will live far from the vile and grief of the mortal realm."  His eyes glowed with determination as he shifted; resting Legolas back onto the bed more.  Legolas gasped.  

            "Haldir, tonight—" Legolas tried hard to control the traitor's words, but it was too much.  "Stay with me."  _Aragorn,_ he moaned, his heart stopping as Haldir smiled, halfway through standing, and sat back down on the chair.  

            "Legolas, I will be here for you, always," he comforted, taking his hand as Legolas closed his eyes to a fitful sleep. 

***

            The people of Minas Tirith were in a mixed state.  Finally, there was someone to lay the blame on for the death of such a fair elfin maiden, yet now, there was an upcoming execution.  The people were not allowed to these events; they were quite private and quiet, a person slipping away by the executioners blade or by the noose, depending on what might be the crime.  

            Little they had seen of their King, even the servants of the castle.  He remained locked away in his room, contemplating many matters.  Sometimes, he would consult with Elrond or Faramir, but those rows always ended with shouting and a throwing of a person and some furniture out of one of four doors.  

            "I accidentally walked in on one of their conversations," Mlina said as she gathered with some of the other servant women.  She was proud of this accomplishment, knowing that many of the other women often fell in on important conversations, though she had never before.  "I felt very nervous though, and thought that the King was going to take a sword to me."  She shivered, and another maid gasped and put her arm around her.  

            "Dear, that happened to me before, so I understand.  He is very irritable now," the woman comforted.  Mlina hardened and pulled from under her thin arm.  

            "Can you give us a gist of the conversation?" a young girl asked.  Mlina shook her head, smiling as she recalled the moments that she spent asking the same questions.  

            "I was sworn to secrecy," she intoned, as the older servant women did; she was one of them now.  

            At sixteen, she was the youngest of a fleet of serving women and maids for the King.  She often provided him with food nowadays, since he did not budge from his room.  Every day, she held herself a little straighter when she entered, carried the tray with more confidence.    

            "And by secrecy I will swear if words you can utter," another girl, one of Mlina's friends who was only a year younger than her,  Even a humble servant though knew when not to overstep their bounds.  

            "On any given day, I would spend the evening talking if I could, but not this time.  My friend, understand, but these matters are far too close to my Lord the King's heart."  Her friend hung her head and sighed.  

            "You can at least tell us who the conversation was with, right?" she suddenly asked, her face brightening.  Mlina smiled mischievously.

            "I do not believe so."  She smirked, and despite her friend's pleading, she would not budge.  

            Though she enjoyed her position of power, Mlina found the burden of her knowledge tiring and so tempting.  Her mouth could journey the length of Middle-Earth if she let in, before sundown, while doing all her chores, and to her, it was too much to keep it shut over a matter.  She could keep a secret if not egged, but constant nagging only weakened already soft walls.  

            _"When you take this position, Mlina, you take on the oath never to repeat any information your questing ears may hear; naturally, you want to know what the King discusses, but it may never leak into the open."  _The words at her initiation rang true.  Sure, it was just an initiation invented by her fellow servants, but it was an initiation all the same.  

            Actually, what Mlina heard that afternoon was too much for even her to consider.  The words shocked her and disgusted her, slowly letting her trust in their King fail.   

            _"What have you done to Legolas?" Haldir ranted, his face reddening as stared at Aragorn's cold face.  "What damage did you do to his mind...and his body at that?  He shies from me every time I even try to touch him!"  _

_            "The appropriate question should in fact be asked by me at the present point in time, and it should be: what have you done to scar Legolas?  When I saw him, I could tell that something went wrong, and not only by—what did you do to him?"  _

_            "Legolas...will...die!"  With those words, Aragorn sprung up, though from Mlina's hiding place in a small servant niche in the wall she could not see this.  _

_            "Do you not think I mourn his death?  Do you not think I wish for the past to reverse itself, that I had taken him as my husband?  Damn your Lady and her prophecies!  They mean nothing!"  _

_            "You resigned Legolas to this fate.  Of course you do not mourn."  Aragorn laughed then, a broken, fragmented, crazed man's laugh.  _

_            "I did what?  Did you claim that I would dare wish my dear mela, my golden price Legolas any harm?  I have done enough as it is.  To harm him further would cause my own death.  I already question it even now.  I have a blade with me, Haldir.  It is a calming blade, and it has many uses, not all of which are to slay foes in combat."  _

_            "But..."_

_            "But what?" he interrupted.  "But what, Haldir, my friend?"  Haldir backed away.  "I am powerless now in my control.  I have every right to control, but in these matters, I passed them into other hands."  _

_            With that, Mlina entered, carrying swiftly the tray of food for the king.  She bowed her head and hurried out of the room, her face crimson as she bolted out of the room. _

            Mlina turned to the window, seeing the setting sun.  She sighed and turned towards her room, her thoughts heavy as she contemplated the King and his truths.  

***

            The quarters were those of someone doomed to die: plain, simple, inelegant.  It was a waste of time to make them comfortable.  The bed was no more than a pallet, dust covered every corner of the room, there was a small table and chair, but nothing was at the least presentable.  Legolas observed this with cold indifference.  

            "Aragorn," he whispered longingly.  If only he could see his lover again before the end.  He had no lover though, so he shook that thought from his mind.  Even Haldir was nothing to him now.  The colorless world swirled around him, but he was still, immobile, unable to catch up.  He was the outsider, unable to enter it, unable to walk away.  

            He spent most of his life with Aragorn.  They knew each other as children even, and he could not forget the man who swept his young heart away.  He would give his life for Aragorn if he had to.  

            He was.  Aragorn wished him dead.  

            "I will do this for you, Aragorn.  I will die for you."  He whispered to the darkness as he finally resigned himself to his fate.  

***

            _I was swept away by you__ the first moment our eyes met.  You with your long, unkempt hair, even then, your blue eyes glowing in the starlight as you rode to the fair gates of my home.  I waited in the boughs of a great tree, watching the line of Elves from Rivendell.  Even as young as you were and small, I could tell you from the rest of the ranks.  I traced your every step as you wound around the corner _

_            I could not understand the feeling I had since that day, a strange mix of emotion all tangled up in my heart, threatening to choke out all life.  I grasped it but found it full of thorns, though the thorns were made of silk.  I fell away, and I was gone, thrall to the fickle feeling called love.  _

_            The first time I talked to you, I thought I would burst from the sudden flow of passion.  I could not control myself as I laughed at your voice.  You laughed too, young and innocence.  Those days were utopias, tucked in the fair trees of Mirkwood, running laughing, playing.  _

_            Maybe it was that I was too naïve to consider the possibility you may turn me down, but that day in the glen I could not hold back any longer.  I gave you the only gesture I knew, a small kiss on the cheek, the peck my mother once gave to me long, long ago, when she was alive.  As I scampered out, I prayed to every holy force of the Realms across the Sea that you would follow.  You did.  There, I met love.  _

_            I suppose I was not as young as it sounds; I was only innocent, sheltered by __Ada__, his fear of me leaving him great.  I knew I was the only link to the woman he would never see again, and I tolerated his sheltering.  But when you lips met mine, I was lost to wild abandon.  I never wanted that moment to end; you were so soft, so delicate.  Your lips were kind; even if we both fumbled with how it was we should kiss.  _

_            From then on, we were inseparable.  I never dreamed of a day apart from you, never.  _

_            Until now, love, and now, I can only hope I shall please your cold heart, for no matter how cruel you may be, I cannot deny that I still love you.  I will love you and shall never let that go, my one and only lover.   _

***

            Aragorn put his head in his hands and kept back the sobs.  The sun shone painfully through his window, and he cursed and drew the drapes across it.  Legolas awaited his end, less than twenty four hours from now.  

            He had to get out.  

            Haldir disappeared sometime earlier in the week, a passing shadow in an even greater dark.  Aragorn did not mourn his parting, for now, when he would occasionally pass by the secluded room of Legolas, the elf's face almost seemed brighter, like that burden left him be.  Still, the elf never moved from either sitting or lying on the bed, staring listlessly ahead, sometimes humming to himself, but always oblivious to the world.  Aragorn knew that it was hard on him, but this was not the expected response.  

            Still, now was no time to consider that.  He had other plans and other matters to sort out.  

            Firstly, he rose, stretching, and strode to his wardrobe.  Hidden behind all the finery of his royal clothing was his traveling gear.  He pulled it out of hiding and shook it out.  The smell of the unwashed clothing was welcoming to him, compared to the stiffness of his normal attire.  He slipped easily into his garments.  He fastened his oldest sword belt, the one he had before becoming king, around him, and slipped Narsil out of its decorative sheath and into this disguise.  Throwing on the cloak, he admired himself in the mirror, looking once as he did those years ago when he was naught but a Dúnedain of the North.

            He slipped quietly out the back way from his quarters, past many servants, who gave him odd looks.  No one stopped him in the hall though, for which he was thankful.  Mainly, this was not because of his clothing but for the fact that he used rarely traversed passages to get to the stables.  

           Once there, he walked along the rows of stalls.  Kingly horses there were, but none of these pleased Aragorn.  Still, back, tucked away in a dark corner, was a shaggy mare, her chestnut coat unkempt and her mane and tail tangled.  Her eyes though glowed with life, and her ears stood erect even as her head hung from the weight of being forgotten.  She was well muscled and very strong, but rarely was she ridden now, used only if there was dire need.  

            "Hello, Alara," Aragorn whispered to her.  She perked at her name, snorting as she saw Aragorn.  He held out his hand, stroking her neck as he unclasped the stall door.  There was no tack for her, long categorized as old and thrown out like she almost was, but Aragorn did not need it.  He sprang onto the horse, not as gracefully as Legolas (cursing himself at thinking the name), but he managed.  He turned her from the stable and trotted out into the afternoon sun, through the man rings of the city and out into the great field of Pelennor, in the outermost ring of the City.  To one side, halfway inside and halfway not, lay a forest, small, but beautiful.  That was Aragorn's destination, and he spurred Alara into a canter as he crossed this distance of the plain.  

            The boughs of the trees sheltered Aragorn from the harsh light, and he slowed Alara to a walk, dismounting from her to make the way through the tight knit trunks easier.  She neighed in disapproval, even her tired back still calling for the lost rider.  Aragorn rubbed her nose and shook his head, comforting her with apologies.  

            "At least I can apologize to someone," he said despondently as he led her through the forest.  Legolas...

            "Now is not the time to be caught up with my emotions.  I mourn for the elf, I shall always mourn for the elf, and I...love him.  If all goes well..."  He gulped and quickened his stride.  

            The glen was deep in the heart of the forest, not yet to the wall yet but near to it.  Soft grass grew in it, springy and fresh even this close to winter.  There was a covering of brown leaves around its edges.  Aragorn went to the center and put down his gear, shrugging off his pack and letting it fall with a clank.  Alara jumped at the sound, but after calming, she busied herself with picking at the lush grasses.  

            Aragorn plopped down on the ground, running a hand through his shoulder length hair.  The breeze blew, and leaves dislodged from their branches.  A brown, crinkled leaf passed his head, and he held out his hand for it.  It settled in his palm, and he listened to it rustle a moment before letting it free.  

            There was much he had to do before tomorrow.  He looked around, knowing that would only be a temporary hiding place.  There was little food in the pack for the upcoming journey, and so he began a search through the forest for edible plants for the long trek ahead of him. 

***  
  


            It was there to jeer at him again, the sun of men.  Legolas shielded his eyes from its burning rays as he rolled over in the bed.  The sheets were wet from crying again.  It felt like the tears never stopped, when Legolas had no control of his mind and body.  No tears could fill his wounds now though.  

            They would not have the chance.  Legolas had not counted the days until—then—but the heaviness in the air and the choking anticipation alerted Legolas to the time.  The monotony of the days locked away, the dullness of his mind and soul: all was to end now.  

            There was no more time for regrets.  His life was his life; no matter how many times he looked back, no matter how many times he cried for the past, it was past.  There was no chance to make amends for any mistakes, no time to say words unsaid, do actions undone; everything ended here and now.  

            The hard pounding on his door pulled Legolas out of his self-pity.  He gulped as the burly guard threw it open, or at least, Legolas expected it to be the burly guard.  Instead, it was Elrond.  His face was stone, and his mouth was a thin line incapable of speech.  Legolas took a deep breath and exited the room with Elrond shutting the door behind him.  

            They walked through the silent halls alone, up a set of stairs Legolas did not know existed.  They were rough and cracked, the large stone blocks crumbling with age.  There were torches burning along the walls, but they were at long intervals from each other; hangers sat in the walls, but the wood had long rotted out from those.  

            The stairs even into a open space, far above the City.  It was actually part of the mountain above it, secluded, away from every shred of civilization.  The steep, winding path led up to a cave.  With his keen eyesight, Legolas discerned two armed guards of the palace standing at either entrance of the cave.  They held long spears, which blocked the entrance.  

            The excruciatingly long walk finally ended, and Legolas stood before the two men.  One sneered at him; there was the burly guard that brought him food and often teased and tormented him, jeering and calling at him as much as possible.  

            "I bring the prisoner, prince Legolas," Elrond recited huskily.  He cleared his throat, coughing a little while the guards lifted their spears to allow them passage.  Legolas stepped between them, and he felt the spears fall only inches from him as he entered the dark of the cave.  The men behind him snickered.  

            What appeared to be a cave was in fact only a passageway, leading to a peculiar opening.  It was still within the mountain, yet somehow, a large crack had formed in the top of the mountain, letting in sunlight to one large area.  The crack, over time, expanded, and now, it was like a sun opening, letting in light.  Sparse grasses grew in the area, and rock shrubs peeked up through cracks in the ground.  There was also another tunnel in front of him, light at the end, leading to the other side of the mountain.  

            A man stepped out from behind a shadowed hiding niche in the wall.  He was thin and meager looking, under the black cloak which he wore.  His eyes glimmered with malice, and in his hand he carried an axe, the edge catching the light and reflecting it into the elf's eyes.  The man nodded to Elrond, who removed himself from the room; he could not stand the sight which would take place inside.  

            In the center of the cave was a block, made of ebony colored wood.  It was shaped to fit to Legolas' neck, indented in the center.  The man waved to it, and when Legolas did not move, he gave him a little shove to it, harshly kicking him to the ground.  He rested his head in the groove.  

            "You should feel lucky, elf," the man sneered.  His voice was high and squeaky, somewhat distant as he moved to a sharpening wheel to perfect his axe.  "Most prisoners come to me all bound up and gagged.  They must really trust you to come all like you are.  I doubt you could put up a fight in your state anyway."  He laughed to himself.  "I always believed elves were a high race, strong, able to take down most any man.  Are you going to respond to me, huh, elf?  Are you just going to sit there and die?  Well, really, you will in fact die either way."  He squealed with laughter.  

            Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, clearing his mind as he waited for the finishing blow.  He did not feel burning tears come to him, of which he was thankful.  The mourning was over.

            He vaguely had a thought, an image of a man's face, in the back of his mind.  The face smiled at him, equal with his height.  

            The face had its eyes closed, and the eyes of the observer also closed as he fell into the love of the kiss.  

            The face kissed his neck, cheeks, lips, ears with fiery passion.  His hands ran across the observer's body, sending red-hot fire through his bones.  

            "Any last words?" the man asked.  Legolas barely kept the final vision contained, but it too slipped away in the darkness, leaving him alone and untouched.  He did not respond.  

            "Well then—" The man shuffled to the block and lifted up the axe, bringing it down with a whoosh of air.  Legolas braced himself, clenching his jaw as he prepared for his final blow.  

            Cliffhanger!  

            Please, give me as much _constructive criticism as you wish.  _

            Oh, yes, a note that is bugging me and I must say: in chapter 1, Aragorn says a lot of elvish stuff.  As I have found out now, that is wrong.  I am very sorry!  I found some other information about elvish, and many of those words are not used in Quenya.  I guess I found a faulty translator.  Sorry!  *bows in apology* I will get it right next time I must use a lot of elvish though.  I WILL!      

            Thanks for reading!  I never really expected this story would get anywhere, so I am happy!  


	6. A View to Death

Chapter 6

            _Pain, excruciating pain, then blackness..._

***

            Too slow, he wouldn't make it.  The end, it was so close.  Every second drew him closer, but all the while, he drifted farther away.  He was almost there, could see the cave.  

            The knife pierced the executioner as he raised his blade.  Aragorn did not stop running, even as the body fell to the ground in a heap, the axe clanking to rest by his side.  He made for the pedestal and the immobile figure upon it.  

            "Legolas, nin mela, my love!" he cried as he picked up the body.  Legolas shifted a little, opening his eyes.  Aragorn cradled him close to his chest, rocking back and forth.  

            Legolas felt the darkness departing, knowing the observer was an observer no longer.  He wrapped his arms around Aragorn, sobbing into his cloak, all the fear of death and parting crashing over his head at once.  

            "Damn Galadriel," Aragorn whispered as he lifted up the golden prince, calm once more in his embrace.  Legolas hiccupped, and Aragorn gently wiped a clear tear from his cheek.  

            "I though..."  Aragorn silenced Legolas with a quick kiss on the lips.  

            "Come, dear beauty of the elves, I cannot explain here.  We have many words to exchange before the end, if there be time."  He helped Legolas to the mouth of the cave and down a small incline to where he left Alana.  She walked up to Aragorn, nosing Legolas.  He winced at her touch and he made no move to acknowledge her.  

            Aragorn jumped onto the horse's back, and he held down his hand for Legolas, but Legolas, not waning in physical strength, sprang up without help.  He clasped his hands around Aragorn's waist, resting his head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, the tears flowing despite that barrier.  

            "Where are you taking me?" he choked out between sobs.  

            "Away, far away.  We will never return to that cursed city, at least, you shall not.  You shall be safe, wherever we go, away from the false convictions, away from your hurt."   

            _What hurt, that is, I can send you from.  _

***  
  


            The figure crept silently through the almost deserted streets of Minas Tirith.  There were a few weak candles glowing in some dirtied windows, but besides that, there was little sign of life.  

            With unnatural silence and stealth, the figure slipped under the noses of the guards, into the central ring of the City.  He cast sharp eyes around him before hurrying off at a run through the streets.  When he came to a small side street, he swerved, slowing as he entered a little known about and dilapidated part of town.  

            These were the servants' homes; little shacks out of plain sight, near to the palace, but out of the way enough that no one would know they were there.  There was much activity here, people bustling about in the streets, maids calling to each other as they exchanged shifts, people out cleaning some of the filthy roads, children running underfoot.  It was a community, made for the servants alone, a small town inside a vast city.  

            The figure spotted a serving woman to one side, stepping out of a flower shop.  He approached her.  

            "May I ask you a question?"  She jumped at his voice and almost dropped the flowers she held, her hand clutching at her heart.  

            "Don't startle me like that, please," she asked.  "And of course, you can ask me something."  Her brow furrowed together as she suddenly studied the cloaked man, trying to peer into the depths of his hood.  

            "Where might I find a serving person who would serve the King directly, their business completely in His rooms?"  

            "Well, there's one girl I know of, Mlina's her name.  She lives not far from here actually, down this street and then to the right.  She brings his Majesty food and drinks when needed and waits on him when he holds meetings in his chambers."  She lowered her voice.  "If you want information, she will not give it to her.  She won't even tell her family what she heard.  It's a mighty position that she's in, but she can't say a word 'bout it."  

            "Do not fear.  I desire no news of the King.  Thank you for your assistance."  He bowed to the woman and departed, a shadow flitting away in the dark.  

            The woman hurried in the other direction to spread the news of his coming around the town.  

            Mlina almost dropped her brush when she heard the knock on her door.  She looked up from where she was trying to untangle a large knot in her dirty brown hair and called:

            "Who is it?"  When the only reply she received was another knock, she impatiently stood and went the front of her one room house.  She pulled back a hole-filled curtain and saw a mysterious man in front of her door.  She gasped and covered the curtain, darting from the window.  Painful memories flowed back to her.  The man knocked again.  

            "G-go away," she stammered.  "Leave me alone!"  

            Suddenly, the pounding increased, and the weak timbers of the door cracked.  Mlina shrieked and she dove for a corner of the room where she stored a small knife for occasions like this.  

            The flimsy door broke, and the figure strode inside, his cloak billowing out from his feet.  He made no sound as he advanced on her.  

            "Get away!  I have a knife!" she cried.  

            "I mean you no harm if you will assist me," he tried to comfort her.  "I only ask that you do me a small favor."  

            "I said stay away!"  She felt the wall behind her, and she held the dagger out in front of her with trembling hands.  

            "I mean you no harm," he cooed, but Mlina did not budge.  With a sigh, the man swatted at her hand, which held the dagger.  Her hand stung on impact and she dropped the dagger.  "I do not want to do this, but if you will not cooperate, I shall."  He pulled out his own dagger, long and elegant, with a creamy white blade.  He held it up to her neck, their faces only a foot apart.  

            "You know where the King has gone," he stated.  Mlina gasped as with his free hand, he threw back his hood to reveal his face.  "You will tell me where the King has gone."  

            "I-I am s-sworn to secrecy and cannot tell," she whispered.  

            "There will be much pain by that oath if you do not break it."  

            "If I broke it, I would be a traitor, and if I was a traitor, I would die.  Even if you kill me, I will not speak."  The man took Mlina's small wrist and massaged it.  She flinched.  

            "You are soft; you know that, do you not?  I know what it is that you fear more than death."  He ran his hand along her arm and to her neck; the knife he pulled away, but now, he held her to the wall with his body weight.  She tried to squirm away, but she could not.  His fingers tickled her lips, and she screamed, but his hand muffled it.  

            "If you scream, that will follow.  If you speak, there will be no pain of death or worse."  Both hands he occupied by beginning to unclasp her dress, letting it slide down her shoulders.  She pushed against him with her all her strength, but he was too much.  

            "Don't," she pleaded as he undid the final clasp.  Tears leaked from her eyes as she bit her lip.  The dress slipped lower, aided by his roving hands.  _Not again, she pleaded to every holy power.  _Please, not this again.  _  _

            "Speak."  He pushed a strand of hair away from her face, pressing harder against her.  The dress fell lower, so low now.  His hand ran down her shoulder and along her arm, colleting the folds of the cloth as it went, forcing it down past her elbows...  

            "I will speak!" she sobbed finally.  "I will do anything but sate your lust.  Now get away from me!"

***

            Aragorn put a few more branches onto the warm fire, stoking it a little before settling down beside the elf nearby.  The moon had just risen above the trees, providing little light for him to see by.  Around him, the gentle breeze shifted the leaves of the trees bordering the glen.  

            Legolas had his knees pulled up to his chest, and his face was stark white, a great contrast to his puffy eyes.  Aragorn pulled him close and stroked his hair.  

            "Legolas," he whispered.  

            "I suppose we need to talk.  In fact, yes, I demand an explanation."  He sat up, and Aragorn let his hands fall.  Legolas' face was so cold.  

            "Legolas, I understand the pain that I caused before," he started.  "Damn Galadriel, damn her to every end!  I do not care anymore.  You don't understand what it was to be away from you."  Now, it was Legolas' turn to comfort the ranger, as he flung himself at Legolas, who wrapped his arms around the shaking form.  "Don't die on me, please, Legolas."  

            "I can't die..."  Legolas' voice caught in his throat.  "I can die."  

            "What happened, Legolas, my love, what happened to the elf from long ago?  Where did your strength go?  Why do you cry now, when before no tears would fall from your delicate cheeks?"  Aragorn reached up to wipe the water from Legolas' cheeks, running his hand along the soft skin.  Legolas gulped.  

            "What happened to the lover I once knew, the lover who would not dare harm me in any way, that would never dare desert me," he spat, even while he let Aragorn smooth down his hair.  

            "Should I explain first?"

            "Your lies will take longer."  Aragorn sighed.  

            "Please, Legolas, hear me out.  Let me speak before you pass judgment."  Those words struck him, and he fell silent.  

            "Legolas, Arwen's passing was hard on all," he faltered, unsure how to begin.  "There were so many pointing fingers, and when the bow was made of elvish wood, all elves in the City were called to question.  One claimed the arrow to be from...Mirkwood.  I would not harm you!" he cried, clutching Legolas.  "My love, I meant you no harm."

            "Why then did you summon me here?  If I might remember, it was by your order that I came to this accursed city."  

            "Lord Elrond...it was he who called you here, against my orders.  I could not stop him.  He thought it was necessary.  He was too engrossed in his own selfish thoughts to pay you any attention.  Legolas, I only wanted you gone, safe and away.  I caused you too much hurt."  Legolas could not bring himself to retort.  "If I could take it all back, I would.  If I could stop all your suffering, I would.  Would you like me to die?  I would die for you, if that suits you."  He spread his arms wide.  "Whatever you want, I will give it to you!"  

            "Then stay with me," Legolas whispered.  "I hate you."  With that, he flung his arms around Aragorn, letting the man rock him.  "I wanted you dead.  I wanted to stay with you.  I do love you, if you can ever faithfully return that."  

            "I never wavered, only clouded my on vision a little."  

***

            Night turned to day, the sun faded from the sky, and Haldir cursed as it rose above the horizon, easily giving away his position to any who might cast their eyes on the plain now.  He sped his horse up a little, his only hopes to reach the forest before noon.  So much was coming together, the pieces falling in perfectly...

            "Sir, I can't keep up," a feeble voice called beside him.  Haldir turned around on his horse and saw the serving girl, Mlina, struggling to stay balanced on her horse as it trotted obediently onward.  She gripped the mane with her white hand and clung tightly to it to keep from sliding off.  

            "Just try.  I need you still, even after what you have told me."  

            "Sir, if I may ask: what is it that you still want from me?  I gave you all the information that I know..."

            "You will see in due time."  Haldir turned his horse, and he heard Mlina let out a muffled shriek as her horse too turned.  He smiled and trotted on.

            The dark cloud of doubt though hung heavy in his heart.  Back in the City, news was just spreading of the disappearance of the prisoner Legolas, he knew.  Yes, he had been there, seen the escape, the dramatic rescue on Aragorn's part.  He knew what the king planned.  

            By nightfall, they would have moved out of the last ring of the City and into the wilderness beyond.  If time boded well, Aragorn could make it across Middle-Earth in at least a month, maybe less, depending on how fast he traveled.  Haldir had to reach them before that time.  He could feel that something was going direly wrong, some turn for ill that could bring his downfall.  

            With Legolas here to prove his innocence—

            "Sir, I see someone ahead.  I think they might have food, and if you do not mind me asking, could we stop..."

            "No, we can't stop!  I thought that I heard you were a dependable servant, if not a little talkative, but you always followed orders."  She bowed her head in fear, hiding behind her mass of hair and shielding her upper body.  "Well, come on.  We need to avoid these people if we can."  He swerved to the right, a little off course, and hurried around the traveler.  

            Unfortunately for him, he did not recognize the man, out for a walk in the morning sun, spending time alone with his thoughts, and nor did he know the man also saw him.  

***

            Elrond sent out scouts as soon as possible to get to Haldir, seeing that he was leaving somewhere.  After disappearing for so long, it was only necessary to wonder, and after Legolas escaped...

            Elrond wondered, not for the first time, if what he was doing was right.  He had known Legolas ever since the young elf had been a baby, always in close contact with his father.  

            For the first time, even after pronouncing Legolas as his son, his thoughts turned to Thranduil.  Legolas was his only link to a life long past: his wife.  It would be too much for Thranduil to have to bear that grief on his old heart.  Long was he Elrond's friend and companion, and here he was, ruthlessly chasing after his son.  

            Still, Legolas was clearly at fault, and it was what had to be done to bring justice to this horrid crime.  Even if it would grieve him, it was true, and Thranduil needed to know what his son's fate was to be.  He was an oblivious father, probably expecting that Legolas be happily wed to Aragorn, the husband to the King of Gondor.  Little did he guess of the struggle behind those seven gates and walls. 

            Elrond pulled out a piece of parchment from the desk he was sitting at in his chambers and sighed, scribbling down the best note that he could to break this news to his friend.  

            _Dear Thranduil, _

_            My friend, I grieve that I must send you a letter under these circumstances, but what must be done must be done.  _

_            I do not know if you have heard, but a month (was it really that long, he asked himself) __ago a horrible tragedy befell Minas Tirith.  My daughter, Lady Arwen, was found dead, shot by an elvish archer of some type.  _

_            After must speculation, we came to the conclusion of who did the deed.  I wish not break this news to you, but I must.  Thranduil, it was your son Legolas.  He was the one that murdered her.  I cannot explain in full the predicament that brought this about, and so I will not attempt it, but if you wish to see your son again, it may be wise that you come.  By Gondorian law, he is to be put to death.  He has escaped, but I expect we shall find him.  Please, I urge haste.  _

_Elrond_

_            He looked over the letter with distaste, but it was all he could bring himself to say, so he called for a messenger and sent him away bearing the news.  _

***

            Legolas woke at dawn, though he was not eager to move, as in the normal fashion of now, but these reasons were different.  After so many starving nights, he was not ready to relinquish his spot tucked beside Aragorn, the arms wrapped around him, the man's breathing tickling his nose.  Legolas smiled and closed his eyes contentedly, despite the boiling anger.  

            Last night was a long night, most of it spent in discussion of the times, of any subject that came to mind.  After an hour or so, even Legolas let his tongue loosen, and he conversed freely amid tears and soft caresses.  

              "Morning, _my love,_" Aragorn mumbled as he opened his eyes to see a pair of dark blue ones staring at him affectionately.  He pecked Legolas on the cheek and rose, stretching.  "The day dawns clear, and there is much for us to do in only a short time."  Last night's bliss faded as reality struck Legolas.  

            "Yes, they will come for me," he said hollowly, his eyes glazing over, but he vigorously tossed his head from side to side to clear it.  "You said that you would come back?"

            "I cannot go to Valinor beyond or to any of the Magic Isles.  I would even follow you to the very doorstep of death if I could, so do not feel as if I am abandoning you."  

            "I do not.  To tell you the truth, I still much regret ever meeting you, but regardless of the nagging of your blunders, I still love you.  I will not mourn too much at our parting, I can say."  

            "I will," Aragorn complained.  "I will miss every second from your side."  

            "And in your sorrow you can contemplate what might have gone wrong."  Aragorn pulled the lithe form to him, wrapping his arm around the thin waist.  

            "Oh dear love Legolas, I have done enough of that to last a lifetime."  He tickled the elf's lips with his, but Legolas gave him a little shove, and they were apart.  

            "Come, we must leave here if we want to escape the guards."  Suddenly, his face turned grim.  "What will become of you afterwards?  They know that you did this."  Aragorn thought for a moment while he pulled some food out of the pack.  

            "Truthfully, my love, I do not know."  

            "Promise me something though," he pleaded.  

            "I will promise you anything."  

            "If it happens that you die, please, send word.  I would like to know of it so I can rejoice through my grief."  Aragorn frowned, Legolas smirked triumphantly, coming to his side to look for food amidst the pack, humming a tune under his breath, and Aragorn smiled despite himself to see his lover's recovery.  

            "Do you still expect there is a ship to Valinor?"  

            "Galadriel insisted that we take a sooner one; she herself would stay, I believe now, and Elrond..."  He growled.  "There should be a later ship sometime.  Do not worry; we shall not be too late."  

            This though did not comfort Aragorn, and he felt an unexplainable dread growing in the back of his heart. 

***  
  


            Haldir notched an arrow and fired a second later, bringing down the large rabbit he was hunting.  It died with a squeal, and he walked over to it, picking it up, and brought it back to his camp in the shelter of the woods.  

            Mlina huddled against a tree trunk, her eyes red from silent crying.  Haldir almost felt pity for the girl, after what he had done to her.  He did not expect it to scar her that much.  

            "I brought back dinner," he said.  "Do you know how to cook rabbit?  I can if you don't," he added to the silence.  Mlina looked up from the tangle of her hair, and she gulped, convulsing when she saw the rabbit in his hand, dripping with blood.  "Don't worry, it is only a rabbit.  Even elves kill them."  He knelt by Mlina, but she screamed and tripped over herself trying to get away.  

            "Stay away from me!" she shrieked.  Haldir sighed.  

            "Please, I will not harm you again, rest assured," he comforted, but she still sobbed hysterically.  "I suppose then I shall cook this rabbit."  He left the poor shaking girl and went to the fire, carefully skinning the rabbit and staking it upon a spit to turn over the fire.  

            His thoughts turned to arrow beside him, and he found himself smirking.  So close he was to his final target.  Once again, he would need to use his archery skills.  Once again, he would take aim.  Once again, he would fire.  

            And this time, like the last, he would not miss.  


	7. The End of Many Pt 1

Chapter 7: The ending of many- Part 1

            Legolas slowed the horse to a trot with a quick word in elvish.  Behind him, he felt Aragorn shift.  

            "How far have we traveled?" he asked groggily after his small half-awake doze.  

            "We are almost to the borders of Ithilien.  I still do not see why you want to come here, being that it is a diversion from the main track..."

            "Legolas trust me.  I need a little time here, and maybe you do too.  It is far enough away from the City..."  He left his sentence unfinished, not ready to say what he will.  It was far enough away for him to let Legolas go.  He could not travel the entire way to the Grey Havens with his beloved; that would raise too much speculation.  Instead, they would part beneath the boughs of Ithilien, only fitting.  It was the beginning of many things, and it will too be the end.  

            "There are so many scouts there though, Faramir's scouts..."

            "Trust me on one thing, Legolas, if you cannot trust me on others: I know what I am doing.  Have I ever led you astray when it comes to these matters?"  Legolas let out a beaten sigh and slowed the horse yet again to a walk as he saw the edge of the woods clearly.  The leaves on the trees were a rich yellow color with some red scattered about.  It could not compare to the beauty of Lothlorien, or of course, Mirkwood, his home.  

            His eyes turned northward to where his father's land began.  He would never see his dear Ada again; never spend the days in those groves of trees, never meander through the trunks, singing elvish tunes to the stars above.  His father no doubt did not know what it was that had happened to him, though this could be for the better.  His father's temper could very well get out of hand, and who knows what he would do to get back his precious son.  

            "Maybe I should stop to bid him farewell," Legolas mused.  Aragorn made a questioning sound behind him.  "Ada, maybe I should rest in his halls one last time before I cross the seas to the Undying lands.  I have not been to my home in so long."  Aragorn gulped and did not respond, which could have very well been for the better.  "Well, come, we are almost to Ithilien, only the first stop of many we may make."  

***

            "Sir, my hands are slipping!" poor Mlina cried.  Haldir grabbed her wrists, which were bound with twine around his waist, and checked to make sure it was tied.  She screamed at his touch, as she sometimes did at random points in time, and his hand shot away.  

            "They will stay," he reassured her as they cantered along.  It was no use having her horse around since she could barely ride; they would be too late.  Already in Ithilien!  "Damn," he muttered.  

            Suddenly, He saw movement inside the forest.  He knew that fair face, even from this distance.  They were going slowly, but Haldir did not stop.  Instead, he turned to the right, expecting to come up on their side.  He knew Legolas would not be looking behind for him.  

            Nor would Aragorn.  

            Haldir took a deep breath.  Many anxieties weighed on his heart.  After his deed was done, he would have little time alone.  There were so many scouts in the woods of Ithilien, and news travels fast.  

            Soon, they were at the border.  Haldir dismounted, helping Mlina down, though she squirmed out his grip as much as she could.  Finally, out of irritation of her constant shrieks (which he muffled with his hand) and her feeble attempts to flee, he pinned her against a tree, his hands on her shoulders.  She sobbed and cried, her face red with tears flowing down it.  

            "Don't do this again," she pleaded.  Haldir, out of complete anger, backhanded her.  She gasped but remained still.  

           "I will do something if you do not stand still!  My patience is little right now, for my plan shall soon be instituted.  I need your help though.  In this forest, the King Aragorn and his...lover...wander these woods, directly due west of us, I do believe.  You must come up to them, saying that the servants sent you out as a messenger and a scout to find him, for everyone at the palace worries over his disappearance.  This is only a distraction, though.  Their minds must be elsewhere."  Now, he talked more to himself.  "If you can, you must lure them closer to me.  I will show you where, and you must bring them there.  I do not know whether or not they know where the glade is."  Mlina nodded, biting her bottom lip to hold back a sob.  

            "Don't hurt me," she cried.  Haldir loosened his grip.  "I will do this for you."  His hands dropped fully to his sides.  

            "We need to get back on the horse.  Please, Mlina, just this one time, trust that I will not harm you."  Even with those words, she was not comforted.  Painful images flashed through her mind of a night long ago, years it felt, though it was less than a year.  He said he would never harm her; he was so gentle to begin with, so calm, but he turned on her.  

            "Come on now, I'll give you a lift up!" he called from the horse, holding down his hand.  Mlina clambered up on the tall back and clasped her hands shakily around Haldir's waist despite the searing dreams floating through her mind.  

            "How did it happen?"  Haldir suddenly asked thirty minutes into the ride.  Mlina started from where she drifted in and out of sleep.  "Who was it that scarred you like this?"

            "I wish not to talk about it," she answered quickly, banishing her dreams to the back of her mind.  

            "I am sorry if it offended you."  Despite her distrust of the elf, Mlina could not help but hear the sincerity in his words.  Her throat tightened.  

            "He sounded sincere, when he promised he would not do anything without my permission," she croaked.  "Even when he was drunk, he was trusting, good to me.  He never made any advances."  

            Until that day...

_            His breath was heavy with alcohol.  Mlina rose to greet him, even when she noticed his swagger and drunken expression.  She wrapped her arms around him in a short embrace.  _

_            "I was worried," she said, taking his hand and leading him back into the bedroom they shared.  He smiled impishly and grabbed hold of her wrist.  "Please, dear, let go, that hurts."  _

_            "My beaut'," he slurred.  "You're so beaut'."  Mlina turned around to face him.  His eyes glowed with lust as he began to kiss her, sometimes missing her mouth in his stupor.  His hands began to wander.  _

_            "Please, don't do this," she whispered, pushing his hands away.  "I don't want that now."  He would not stop though, and now, he took her forcefully.  _

_            "You'll wan' it soon enough."  He flung her on the bed, and she screamed as he tore off her dress, pressing hard on her.  His rancid breath choked her, but she could not look away.  She beat frantically at his body, but he would not move; he was too heavy.  He ran his hands along her body, massaging her sides, up her arms, coming to rest on her chest.  _

_            "Get off!" she cried out, both in reality and in her memories.  She screamed and almost fell off the horse as she pulled away from Haldir, who had turned to look at her.  Tears ran down her face.  "Don't touch me."  She screamed again as she fell from the moving beast and to the ground, the high-pitched squeal echoing throughout the forest, clearly loud enough for any elf to hear, or a Ranger for that matter.  _

***

            Legolas did hear Mlina's screech, and he turned to face it.  

            "That was a woman's scream," he stated to the confused Aragorn.  He rested his hand on Legolas' shoulder, leaning in next to him, peering into the woods.  "It was a long way off, I know."  

            "Should we go to it?"  Legolas contemplated for a moment, but something compelled him to shake his head.  

            "I fancy getting to Mirkwood as soon as possible, and look, to our west the sun burns behind the trees, and night descends upon us.  Though I treasure the stars of my kind, we must find a place to rest while we have at least some light to work by."  

            They found a place to settle, a small break in the trees.  The ground sloped down, the grass slightly brown.  Legolas' mind reeled as he slumped to the ground in that place, memories floating back painfully.  

            "We cannot rest here," he whispered.  Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder and kneels beside him.  "I know where this is."  

            "Legolas," Aragorn started.  It was all too well planned.  

            "You mean to take me hear," he muttered.  He sighed and lifted his lover into his arms.  Tears ran down his face, but he could not speak, so he soundlessly wept on the elf's hair.  Legolas hesitantly parted, wiping a tear from Aragorn's cheek.  

            "No," he whispered, clinging tightly to the man.  "You will leave me here, again."  

           "Legolas, I will only leave when you are ready, but it should be soon," he finally said, punctuating it with a sob.  Legolas shook his head from side to side until it pounded, and he buried his face in Aragorn's tunic, clinging tightly to the fabric.  

            "Come with me as far as you can," he pleaded.  "I never want to leave your side."  The relapse of Legolas' sudden grief brought the truth down on Aragorn's head painfully.  No matter what it was that he did, he would have to go all the way or risk Legolas losing control along the lonely roads.  He stroked the elf's hair and sunk to the ground.  

            "Don't worry, Legolas.  I will follow you into death and beyond.  I will trace your every footstep, and I will never be far."  He rocked the body back and forth, balancing the elf in his lap and singing softly to him.  

            Legolas never let go.  

***

            Only two hours, the elf was fine again, sarcastically showing his affection to Aragorn.  Now, they both sat beside a fire, after a good meal of dried fruit and some other plants around the forest.  

            "Who did it then?" mused Aragorn as he watched the flickering flames, dancing along the wood.  "Who killed her?"  The question startled Legolas out of his thoughts, and he cocked his head at Aragorn.  

            "Who killed her?" he repeated as if in a trace of sorts.  

            "Yes, who could have shot that arrow?  Wait, what was it that you said about the long bows, what information you gathered?"  A dark feeling grew in his heart, and Legolas looked behind him to the east.  

            It took Aragorn a moment to formulate a reply.  "The bows, long bows, capable of shooting that arrow, are only made in Lothlorien and Mirkwood.  The archer would have to have quite a lot of skill.  I could not get the elf to say anymore.  What do you see with your elvish mind, my love?"  

            "Say those words again," he said distractedly.  

            "My love," Aragorn repeated, confused.  Legolas put his head between his knees as he thought.  He felt breath on his ear, but it was only a memory, stinging at his mind.  

            "Aragorn, tell me, what was the tip of the arrow like?"  He had his eyes closed now, as if envisioning something.  

            "It was very sharp, more than usual, and white, like ivory..."  Legolas let his mind fail then, as truth revealed itself to him.  In that moment, he felt life crash down, but not in the way that it had before.  This time, he felt the darkness grow to encompass all of himself and Aragorn, along with most of the forest.  It radiated from somewhere within, a hunter stalking its prey.  So close, it was to the kill.  It was ready whenever needed.  

            It all made sense now.  

***

            Mlina picked her dress up off another broken branch, bunching it up so that she could walk easier through the underbrush.  Her eyes stung, and blood dripped from her legs in numerous cuts and bruises.  This forest was no haven at all.  

            Now, her mind was a little too preoccupied to feel pain though.  Tension built in the air around her, growing ever greater as she walked on.  Somewhere, something great happened, something twisted though, and she was in the middle of it, caught between two armies. 

           Haldir was such an evil man...elf.  She cringed and protectively tensed, but he was not there to harm her again.  He was right; only that night did he dare try anything, but the point was that he did in fact try something.  Mlina could have lived a normal life; she was even getting over what he did to her, with much help from the other servants, but he came to her and rekindled those pains buried deep within her.   

            A sudden burst of pity flowed through her for his quarry.  Whatever his intentions, they were for ill, to be certain, and he intended not to make it pleasant for his victims; he never did.  Mlina vaguely recalled him mentioning whom it was he hunted.  

            With a gasp, covered by her hand, Mlina remembered whom it was she journeyed to now, to distract him, who it was receiving Haldir's vile plan.  

            The King.  

            With nimbleness that startled herself, Mlina dashed through the trees, picking the cleanest path and sprinting along it.  She had to reach the king before Haldir did; she had to.  Foreboding encircled her, forcing her to move faster than she ever had.  She was running out of time, and she felt, deep inside her heart, whose life it would be that would be taken in this battle.  

***

            The hunter looked around, with the trees thinning now.  He hid behind a trunk and waited for all sounds to die down before he took more soundless steps.  A long bow he carried in his right hand, ready when needed.  

            Somewhere, ahead of him, his ears picked up on voices, two men speaking.  He stopped, holding his breath, and listened to who they were, placing those familiar speakers, though he listened more to the clear, pure sound of the fairer one.  Still, that could come later, and his beauty assessed another time.  There was more to do now.  

            He crept to the edge of the clearing, making sure that the trees concealed him from the light of the fire.  He notched an arrow to his bow, his arm, for the first time in a while, shaking.  Sweat dripped on his face, but he did not wipe it away; it would make noise.  He knew that he if was less than a fraction of a centimeter off, all would fail, he would hit the wrong target, and there would be no more point...

            _I must concentrate.  He forced himself to think, calm his arm, listen to conversation.  Strangely, he found it was about him, and now, he lowered his bow, to eavesdrop on it..._

            And to allow the lovers their last moments together.  

            The last chapter will be the last, I think.  I hope to have it up soon, so don't stop reading now! 

            Please review! 


	8. The end of many Pt 2

Chapter 8: The end of many- Finale 

            Note on time:  The letter that Elrond sent he actually sent only hours after Legolas left.  I expect that Legolas and Aragorn rested for three days in the forest on the border of the City, and it took them another three to reach Ithilien.  There, they wandered for a day, and when they finally reached their camp, another day had passed, making a total of seven days.  By this time, the messenger had reached Thranduil and delivered Elrond's message.  I will sometimes jump around in time, so, I will use ~~~~~~~~~~~~ as a passage of time marker (for long periods of time, jumping into the future and such, while the other scenes commence).

            The end comes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Thranduil pounded his fist on the table as he reread the message, cursing every being within ten feet of him (and farther, in the case of Elrond).  He ripped the letter to shreds and scattered them in the hungry fire in his study; the weak parchment caught flame and shriveled to little black stubs.  He kicked out from his deck, standing, and threw his chair.  It clattered to the floor, along with an assortment of papers and such.  With a roar, he threw open the door and thundered down the hall.  Servants stepped away; his advisors (who had heard his anger) came to assist him, but he charged past all of them, intent on one destination.  

            He reached the stable without a thought other than to save his son from death.  Never would he dare kill Arwen!  They were friends before.  Yes, it was an awkward relationship, what with Aragorn loved by both (and only returning it to one), but never should it have led to this.  It didn't!  

            He found his white steed in a stall, munching happily on some feed.  A stable hand came to help the enraged king, but he needed no help.  He grabbed a pack, kept ready for messengers and containing a weeks worth of food, and he strapped it on his back.  

            "M'lord, where it is you travel?" the stable hand asked, astonished by the king's behavior.  Thranduil waited outside the stall to let his horse finish the last bit of feed, for he would need all the strength he could get.  

            "Elrond summoned me to Minas Tirith with all due haste," he spat at the unfortunate boy, "and with all due haste I travel.  Tell me advisors I shall return soon, and they should watch Greenwood in my absence, like normal."  With that, he sprung onto his horse with elvish grace, not lost in his many years of existence, and he sped to the south, feeling every moment he tarried took him farther from his precious son.  

***

            Elrond's scouts returned once again with no sighting of the king, or Legolas, or Haldir even.  He rested his head in his hands on the desk in his room and sighed, letting out all his frustrations of that day.  His head pounded from the stress and his eyes stung, a feeling he had not felt it many weeks.  They were tears.  For a half-elf, tears came easier, and not with the signs of impending death of grief.  No, these were tears of anger and old pains reawakened.  His daughter flashed before his eyes, smiling, then singing with her fair voice under the moonlight, then weeping for the loss of love, then smiling again, a little girl now, running and playing in her youth.  Then, he saw the recreation of the scene of her death, playing as he thought it would.  She and Aragorn sat at the base of a great cypress, Aragorn weeping, Arwen trying vainly to comfort him.  There was a shadow though, lurking to the side of them, a shadow with a bow.  Sunlight fell on his face, illuminating just the corner of it...

            Elrond gasped and shook himself from the trance.  That was no vision he created, but a vision of the truth, seen from the outside.  He knew who's face that was, and suddenly, every piece fell into place.  He leapt from his chair, calling for the nearest servant.  He must change his scouts' orders.  Word must travel of who the real hidden bowman was.  Leave Legolas alone!  Another runs free, and he is more dangerous by far, and the murderer.  Bring him justice by death!  Legolas' justice is to let him free!  

            Elrond stopped now, his eyes growing in size as another vision came to him.  The two bodies, slumped over each other, clasped hand in hand, rested in a clearing.  A few leaves stirred but no more.  There was an arrow through one's heart.  

            With all the more urgency, Elrond called for the servant.  

***  
  


            "There is no way..."  Legolas silenced Aragorn, putting his finger to the man's lips.  

            "Whisper," he commanded, warily throwing about his piercing gaze.  "I feel another presence."  Aragorn shifted so that it was easier for him to get his hand on his sword hilt, which lay next to him on the ground.  

            "What you say must be wrong.  He would never dare something like that," Aragorn, pleaded more to himself than to Legolas.  Legolas glared at him.  

            "Then you once again lay the blame upon my shoulders," he whispered harshly, his cold eyes boring holes in Aragorn's heart.  "It is true.  Only arrows from Lothlorien would have that type of tip."  Aragorn, even when the words came from his dear lover's lips, could not let it sink in.  It should not be an elf who did the inexcusable deed.  Maybe it was a human.  Yes, it was a human.  

            "It was an elf," Legolas said, reading Aragorn's scrunched up face correctly.  "You know what elf it was, and I know."  Suddenly, Legolas stopped.  "He is here," he breathed, taking Aragorn's hand.  "Do not turn, but look to the fire, for I feel him behind me."  His body shook, and Aragorn clutched him tighter to stop the chill that ran through the elf's body.  "Dear love, what will he do now?"  

            "I will protect you, no matter what I must do," Aragorn vowed, kissing Legolas on the cheek.  

            "You will not die," Legolas also vowed in that moment.  "If you die, I shall die with you, by your side, in your arms.  We will not part."  He took up Aragorn's other hand and clasped it tight, putting it to his heart.  Aragorn did the same.  It was an old gesture they did in times of peril, when one's life was in question.  

            "Will he shoot, as before?" 

            "He aims for our hearts, and his eye is sharper than mine.  Now, be silent, and hold me but loosely, for if we must spring away, I want to also.  Listen for his arrow.  It will come."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Thranduil reached the gates of Minas Tirith in a week and did not pause when he reached the city, only to let the guards check him and allow him passage through.  They knew Elrond awaited him, and the king would not wish them to impede on Elrond's wishes.  

            When he reached the palace, he dismounted from his weary horse, handing him to a stable boy to care for.  

            "Please, I treasure this horse, and I fear I may already lose something dear to my heart, so care for him well."  The stable boy nodded understandingly.  

            "I will, Lord," he said before leading the horse away.  Now, Thranduil's path to Elrond was clear, and he strode up to the palace, intent on finding the elf Lord's room.  

            It was there, just as the maid said it would be.  Thranduil might have found another to give him directions, but she was the only person moving in the halls.  Nothing stirred, as if a great cloud of mourning hung over the entire palace.  Now that Thranduil thought about it, the City was also silent, many people dressed in black, many weeping on the sides of the streets, and calling up to the heavens.  He was in such a rush he did not hear what they had to say.  Now, as he knocked on the door, he winced, for it was the only sound in a silent corridor beside the swish of the maid's dress on the floor.  

            Elrond opened it a crack to peer out before throwing it wide and embracing Thranduil, though he did not return it.  Elrond let go and beckoned him inside.  Thranduil noted, with concern, that his face was quite pale.  

            "Elrond, my son, Legolas, where is my son?  Tell me everything you left out of your letter!  I demand to..."  Elrond silenced him, and when Thranduil fell quite, he pulled out a chair at a table for him to sit at.  Thranduil sat gratefully and put his hands on the table, leaning in towards the weary elf.  Elrond closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and Thranduil prepared for the news, begged for it.  His eyes pleaded for Elrond to speak, and when he opened his eyes, Thranduil almost cried at him to start.  

            "Thranduil," Elrond began, and he plunged into retelling all of the events that he could of the previous times.  

            When he finished, Thranduil sat in stunned silence, choking on the great lump in his throat.  So much happened to his dear Legolas, yet he was not there by his son's side to comfort him, not there to help him when of all times he had lived he needed it most.  

            "By the Valar," he whispered.  Elrond put a hand on Thranduil's shoulder to comfort him, squeezing it a little, as the elf pounded the table.  "Why my son?" he cried.  "Why was it my son who had to go through this?  You say you suspect he moves to the Grey Havens now, correct?"  Elrond remained silent though, barely controlling his own shaking.  Thranduil understood with horror.  

            "Tell me, what did your scouts find that you sent away?  Did they scour every part of this land, even the forest of Ithilien?  What news did they bring?  Tell me, damn it, what did they find?  Was there an elf?  Did they find Haldir?  Did they find Aragorn?  Was my son with him?  Did.they.find.my.son?" 

            Only the painful silence came from Elrond's tear-stained lips.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Mlina fell to the ground, panting, tears streaking her face from the burning in her legs.  She massaged the muscles, biting her lip to focus the pain elsewhere.  She had to stand though and get to the King, even if she died in the process.  Haldir was probably already to them, and she had to stop him from...She had to stop him.  

            Leaning against a tree, Mlina rose, tottered a little, and then fell back down with a cry of pain.  She sobbed hysterically now, her eyes glowing with determination, sadness, and pain all at the same time.  She shook her hair out of her eyes and wrapped her arms around the tree trunk, this time clinging to it until the world stopped spinning.  Then, she took a hesitant step forward, then another, and soon, she found she could walk, in fact, if she steeled her mind against the intrusions of the searing that traveled up her leg with each step.  She gritted her teeth and hobbled forward.  She felt that something was going direly wrong, and she was close enough to stop it, but if she rested much longer...

            "I am coming, my lord," she called with the strength she had left, leaning on a tree to catch her breath.  "I am coming to protect you from Haldir.  I will make it to you in time, and Haldir will not do his evil deeds.  He will not harm you, my lord, my King.  He will do you no harm."  She drilled those words into her mind, making a rhythm for them.  "I will save my King.  I will save my King."  She stepped to that beat, shuffling forwards faster and faster.  The pain in her legs she forgot as her mind focused on those words, engrossed in what was in front of her, not herself.  

           Suddenly, there was a displacement of air, somewhere far ahead, and Mlina heard, in the deep silence of night, the swoosh of an arrow.  She cried out and forced her legs to run, all too fearful of what this could mean.  She tripped, but she got back up, not caring about the bruises that now covered her, the prospect that ahead would also be Haldir, the vile Haldir, who did to her so much evil.  She did not even feel the pounding fear, the need to curl up in a ball and hide from everyone who touched her delicate skin.  All she knew was that the King was there, and whatever the outcome, she needed to stop it.  

            She stumbled once more, this time into the clearing, and fell on the grass, her chest heaving in air.  Her legs did not respond when she tried to scramble up, so she lifted her head and peered through her brown tangles to the scene in front of her.  

            Shock ran through her veins as she saw the King's eyes glaze over, though his body the other elf still supported.  The arrow pierced him directly in the heart.  Slowly, as if all time stopped, the body slumped to the ground, his face hidden in the grass.  Beside him, the elf sat paralyzed, his arms frozen in the mold of his lover.  

            Rage overtook Legolas in that last moment as he stood, a knife in his hand, and with a great cry that shook the very heart of the wood itself, he rushed forward, intent on killing the evil that waited in the shelter of the wood.  He threw his knife into the body, bringing it out, and then stabbing again.  Blood splattered across his hands and face, on his tunic, blending with his tears and running down his cheeks.  He felt hands try to seize him, but he held those at bay, cutting through one wrist and splattering even more blood over both of them.  

            Panting and weeping, Legolas fell with the body to the ground, pounding the blood with his fist.  Haldir, though, did not feel as Legolas beat him, for his spirit already faded into the lands far away, in the realm of Mandos.  Legolas could not contain himself, and he frantically beat, screaming, cursing, crying, all the while intent only on revenge of his lover's death.  

            Suddenly, he stopped, looking down at the face caught in a moonbeam, and he saw Haldir's face, frozen in fear, twisted by pain, longing for the end.  Legolas gulped, and great grief overcame him as he took his long time friend and cradled him, despite the blood.  He rocked back and forth, whispering maniac words to himself, to the trees, and to the dark.  He did not care if the blood covered all of him now, as he laid the body to rest.  Instead, great urge overcame him, and he walked back to the clearing, his pain escalating tenfold when he saw the lifeless body of the King.  

            "Aragorn," he whispered as he kissed the cold lips, pleading.  "Aragorn, come back to me.  You are not dead.  There is not way you can be dead."  Shock and denial engulfed him, and he held Aragorn, as if the man was alive.  "Aragorn, you see, over there, what have I done?  I killed Haldir, that's what I did!  I brutally killed him, killed another elf.  I am a murderer, just like you said!"  He sobbed onto Aragorn's shoulder, but with his weight, the lifeless form fell to the ground.  Legolas lay down beside it.  "Aragorn, what happened to us?  What happened to me?  Aragorn, do not die on me now!"  His eyes glazed over, and his tears ceased to fall as he reached the desperate stage of elvin grief.  His spirit slipped from his body, ready to depart in peace to the halls far away, but something held it back, bonding words, a grasping of hands, holding them to each other's chest, vows taken that he could not break.  

            "I vowed," he whispered as he picked up the dagger.  "I vowed, my love Aragorn, and I am an elf of my word."  With one hand, he clung to Aragorn, and with the other, he held the knife to his heart.  He fell upon the blade, splattering his blood on the floor of the clearing, and came to rest in the embrace of his love.  

***

            That was how the scouts found them, lying together in the clearing.  They too found Mlina, overcome by exhaustion and grief, out cold on the ground near them.  The body of Haldir they discovered, with the trail of blood leading from it, and all four they returned to the City.  Women wept as they passed, and men bowed their heads.  Children ran to see the procession, some crying and clinging to their mothers, others sobbing alone.  Still, the precession marched on, through the City, until they reached the Palace.  The guards stepped aside, seeing the great stretcher upon which the king was laid, made of branches, constructed the evening they found him.  They knelt, not daring to disrespect their great King on his deathbed.  

            Elrond watched the procession from his room, tears streaming down his face.  News came last evening by another scout to tell of the horrors that returned to the City.  That spread quickly, and when the King came back, a room had been prepared for him before they took him to the resting halls of his ancestors.  

            Beside him stood Thranduil, crying out to his son, his heart breaking as he saw the lifeless and bloody face of Legolas.  He turned away and ran inside, unable to watch any long, and Elrond followed soon after.  

            They brought Haldir to his room of resting, a small, simple place where they would keep his body until the time they would burn it.  He deserved little treatment or fair accommodations.  

            Legolas they brought to rest though in an adjoining chamber with Aragorn's, a cloth drape separating them.  His room they had decorated with elegant mourning flowers of the elves, and dark cloths hung around the room.  There were also branches, bent to form garlands, crowning the top of the walls.  Leaves covered the floor, and in the center was a bed, white and pure.  Legolas they laid to rest on that.  

            Aragorn they laid to rest on a great bed also.  In his hands, they put Andúril, the blade that was broken, re-forged anew by the elves of Imladris.  They put his crown upon his head so that he could reside as a King, and the room around him they decorated with black drapes, the emblem of the tower guard upon them.  

            And so, many things came to pass, and many things faded from the world, purity that should not have been lost, love broken, bloodlines disappearing forever.  The last of the Kings was gone, fading away into the night without a sound.  

            Maybe it happened that in fact, this was what Galadriel, the great prophesier, meant, when she intoned her words that fateful night.  Maybe, in fact, she warned of this downfall, the loss of these great powers.  Much did come to pass in that time, none for good, and tragedy befell the White City.  But also, maybe, the sun would someday rise again on the White Tower, and men would have their dawn again, to grow and thrive as they once did, in the glory of Númenor. 

            Though nevermore would the sun rise upon the faces of the King Aragorn and his beloved, the fair Legolas.   

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Can I face the dark now?  

Without you by my side

Was the pain for the better?

For, in my heart, I knew you were there

It was that little voice in my mind

That spoke to me in the dark

Your voice, comforting words

Soothing out my pain

I would die a million times over

If I could somehow then live

And live in peace with you

Away from all this pain

Even as blackness consumes me

The freedom I've begged for so long

I clasp your body closely

I will never let go

Though all I went through

I can never forget

You were willing to love me

You always were

And I was willing to start over

I could let go of my heart

Tear it out for you

Lay it bleeding on the ground by your feet

How much I would give for you

I am ready to forgive

I may never forget

But I will always love

~*~*~*~*~The End~*~*~*~*~

            *runs and hides* Please don't kill me! 

            I am sorry about the ending, but it had to go this way!  I just have a problem with stories that end all happy, and after everything that happened, it COULDN'T end that way.        

            Thanks to all the people that reviewed and read this story!  I am so happy I finished it!  ^_^ Even if it was kinda sad and depressing....correction, VERY SAD AND DEPRESSING!  

            Anyway, thanks for reading!  

            Please review!  If you do, I might actually write a HAPPY slash story (never done that before).  


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